


Metaxis

by Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia



Category: Hannibal (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abigail Hobbs has brothers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, EWE, Food is People, HP: EWE, It looks like incest but it probably isn't, M/M, Mentions of rape but not worded as so, Murder Family, Pretty sure a lot of things in this fic are impossible, Slash, Slightly Darker!Will Graham, Sunshine and daisies?, This is Hannibal, WIP, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7657363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia/pseuds/Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Metaxis--is the Greek word used by Plato to describe the condition of in-betweenness that is a structural characteristic of the human condition.</p>
<p>When the FBI searched through Hobbs' house, they found out that Abigail Hobbs isn't an only child. Jack thinks this complicates things but Will only has a bad feeling about all of this.</p>
<p>Smokes and mirrors block their sight but who really has this game in their hands? Is it really a game or something more? What if this is nothing more than entertainment?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey, uh, this is my first time writing fanfiction on Hannibal, so it may turn out to be crappy. First time for a crossover as well. But I'm open for suggestions.  
> This is posted to, say, "test the waters." It's a WIP obviously and I have no idea what happens when the HP characters meet Will and Hannibal or whoever I decide they will meet first.  
> Some lines were directly taken from the series so I'll man up and admit that it isn't mine.

“ _Garret Jacob Hobbs has more children._ ”

When his phone rang in the middle of the night, Will wasn’t expecting _this_ to be what he was going to hear. Nor did Will expect anyone calling him at this kind of ungodly hour. He didn’t even want to hear anything more about Hobbs’s case until he was as far away as possible from Minnesota and surrounded by his dogs.

It was, however, a saving grace nonetheless. But his mind was still clearing the cobwebs of his most recent nightmare and _had he heard it right?_

“Pardon?”

There was a sigh on the other end of the line and Will realized how _late_ it was. Jack Crawford may be a controlling man but Will knew that dedicated to his job as Jack is, he _will not_ make a courtesy call in the middle of the night, much less at 2:03 in the morning.

“ _I have contemplated calling Alana Bloom but she has no direct involvement in Hobbs’s case and contacting Doctor Lecter in the middle of the night didn’t seem appealing.”_

_But calling me is?_ Will doesn’t voice out his thought and instead pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt with one hand.

“Jack, it’s 2 in the morning, why are you informing me now?”

The response was silence and Will almost snorted but managed to stop himself. He grimaced as he looked at his shirt and decided that he would have to take a shower before he even attempts to go back to sleep. Maybe change the sheets as well, if he was able to find any spare bedcovers in the unused wardrobe.

Muffled gun shots and quiet pleading entered his mind and Will knows he won’t be able to go back to sleep.

“ _Just come back to Hobbs’s house later._ ”

Will wasn’t able to say anything else as Jack hanged up. He almost didn’t want to go back _there_.

His eyes drift to a dark corner in his motel room and he imagines, he _sees_.

_I see you._

Will took a deep breath, pressing his palms at his closed eyelids. He’s sure he’ll find something to occupy himself with for a few hours.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“We found these documents in a safe in the bedroom,” Jack hands a folder over to Will as soon as he entered the car. “Adoption papers of two boys. We ran it through the local system but no records were found, assuming that they _were_ legally adopted.”

Will leafs through the documents. Two boys aged 11, twins, adopted by the Hobbs’s when they were five. No medical history or even school records. Staring at the papers, Will closes his eyes and lets his mind run over what he knew of Garret Jacob Hobbs.

_They know. They’re going here. I need to get them out; they don’t need to be involved in this. She’ll leave but they won’t. I know they’ll come back, they were the ones to come to me._

_Any minute now, they’ll arrive. Quickly, before they come, leave!_

_Oh, Abigail, don’t worry about them, they’ll be fine. They won’t leave, unlike you. I don’t want anyone else to touch you. You are mine, my flesh and blood. Don’t worry, everything will be alright. This will all end quickly, alright? You understand, don’t you? I need this. I—_

Will jerks in his seat as a sharp ring invaded his mind. His breath was short, beads of sweat rolling at the back of his neck. Will ground his teeth as a dull ache in his head registered to his senses. With shaking hands, Will dug around his pockets for the bottle of aspirin he swore he slipped in before leaving. Finding it, he wasted no time swallowing one pill and forced his breathing to calm down.

When he no longer hears his own heartbeat, Will realizes that they were only a few blocks away and glances at the driver’s seat where Jack is. Tension slowly melted away as Will notices that Jack was too preoccupied with whoever it was the older man was speaking to.

Wasn’t using phones while driving illegal?

Shaking his head and barely hearing the one-sided conversation beside him, Will threw his head back with a sigh as the car slowed to a stop in front of the Hobbs’s residence.

He thought he was done with Garret Jacob Hobbs—that he had left it behind him. And although 24 hours hadn’t even passed, Will was here again.

Silently following behind Jack, Will unconsciously compared his surroundings to the day before.

If there was one thing Will could commend about the FBI, it’s that they clean up the bodies fairly quickly. Police tapes were still surrounding the property and agents are milling around either cleaning up or looking for any evidences. Will already knew they won’t find anything in the house, Hobbs is— _wasn’t_ careless. Nor was he careful. They’d find something but definitely not _everything_.

Hobbs, in some way, _cared_ for those girls so he won’t carelessly _waste anything_. He _honored_ every single part of them. They won’t be able to understand why he wanted— _needed_ to do it so his girls will not be _tarnished_ by any of their—

Will shakes himself away from his train of thought and belatedly realized that Jack said something to him and was waiting for his reply.

Rubbing at his eyelids, Will let out a sigh. “I-I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

He could feel Jack’s intense stare, scrutinizing every part of his face but not _seeing_.

“Will,” Jack said heavily, “I need you to focus on this. Hobbs might be dead-” _at your hands_ “-but we need to find his _other_ children. God knows where they are right now.” _Or if they are even alive_.

Will catches every unsaid words and it made nothing to alleviate the unease. Nevertheless, Jack was right. They had to find the children.

“They’re not dead,” Will informed Jack as they walked into a room filled with technicians gathering up evidences. “Hobbs didn’t want them to be tangled up in this mess.” At least, that’s what Will thought.

“What about Abigail Hobbs?” Jack looked unconcerned as an officer handed over another folder.

“He- Garret Jacob Hobbs _wanted_ his daughter to be with him all the way,” Will remembers the blood that spilled from the wound on Abigail Hobbs’s neck. “He didn’t want his beloved daughter to leave without him. The only reason the twins were not around is because Hobbs _wanted_ them to leave.”

A small, inconspicuous miniature trunk catches Will’s attention. Thankfully, the other people were done at that side of the room and he crouched down at the short bed stand. Putting on the provided gloves, Will picks it up.

It was small enough to fit on his palm and the detail of the miniature looked so complex and well-made. Studying it, Will saw the small keyhole that looked to be the reason why he can’t open it. It almost seemed like the actual trunks found in antique stores.

With his thumb, Will brushed it on the top where an engraving of a symbol he was sure he had already seen before sat. He took a closer look at it and wracked his brain on anything that might give him any clue where he saw the symbol before.

A circle inside a triangle with a line bisecting it. He was _sure_ he had seen it before.

“Do you have any idea what this is?” Will held up the miniature trunk and gave it to Jack.

Jack took a few minutes to examine it while Will looked around the room. The room was of standard size with its walls painted neutral beige. The furniture was all generic and practical except for the twin sized beds pushed together in the middle of the room. It was a guest room before the two boys lived in them.

The opened wardrobe showed clothing typical for two pre-pubescent boys but other than that, the room seemed so impersonal. It was odd how clean and neat the room would have looked if not for the FBI doing a thorough search. It was almost disorienting knowing that two boys, twins even, lived here. This just showed how much they don’t actually know about this case.

Guilt churned at his gut and Will let it wrap around him before pushing it away. He’d feel guilty later, but finding the boys would be his priority for now.

“I’ll send it over with Zeller later,” Jack finally broke the semi-silence in the room. “But we still have to find those boys.”

Will opened his mouth to answer but an officer hurried over to Jack. They had a whispered conversation before the Jack nodded and the officer hurried back outside.

Without fanfare, Jack made his way to leave the room. “Let’s go.”

Slightly irritated at being ordered around, Will stayed where he is. “Where are we going?”

Jack seemed annoyed at this but remained as professional as he could be. “They found Hobbs’s workshop in the woods. They are waiting for my signal to enter there.”

Will took a moment to mull it over before nodding and following Jack.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

A cabin in the woods. If not for the situation they’re in, Will would have commented on how cliché this all was. But Will had the feeling this type of observation won’t be received well right now and instead stayed behind Jack like a puppy following its master.

Will lets his gaze wander around as the men opened the door with caution.

It was an ideal location; deep enough into the woods that they would not have found it without the tracks leading there. No one would have heard anything even if the girls screamed.

Blinking away his thoughts, Will follows inside, nodding his thanks at the officer who gave him a flashlight.

For a minute, Will remembered a time that he would enter a room without police tapes and tag markers on almost every suspicious thing possible. The room would look so… untouched and fresh, and everything looked so sharp and raw that Will loses focus. It was part of the reason why he failed the psychological evaluation in the FBI.

Looking around the room he entered, Will wondered just why he was there when he would only get in the way. The place was filled with Hobbs’ hunting tools and trophies, even a corpse of a deer waiting to be gutted is still on display on the table.

Will immediately diverted his glance from the dead eyes of the animal that stared right through him, and with that action caught sight of a scrap of paper wedged under the table’s leg. No doubt, the FBI would have disregarded it but it stroke Will as odd. It looked so out of place in the otherwise organized butcher house.

Crouching down beside the table while carefully avoiding touching anything much more than necessary, Will gently pulled the scrap of paper out of its place, purposefully forgetting proper procedure. It was a petty action but the lack of sleep and Jack’s attitude were grating on his nerves.

The paper looked coarse and thick but seemingly ripped off from a larger piece. It was folded neatly into four parts. Will stood up and opened the paper.

_Back out. You know where._

_-HJ,  
TM_

Will examined the paper closely, flipping it every way possible just to be thorough. Frowning in thought, Will looked up to try finding Jack amongst the uniformed agents. He almost jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder but managed to stifle it into a flinch.

“Will,” Jack walked into his sight with his hand still on Will’s shoulder. “I need you to see something.”

Somehow, Will knew that it would be where the ‘magic’ happened. And he was proved correct when Jack lead him to the upper floor of the small cabin.

Will couldn’t help but comment, “This seems like something that could be a permanent installation in your _Evil Minds Museum_.”

It was a barb that Jack chose to ignore again and Will almost felt disappointed. Instead, he let his gaze wander around.

The room was, to put it bluntly, an antler room. Dried blood on the wooden floorboards stained it permanently and Will _sees_ their bodies mounted on the sharp antlers around him.

“This is where the Shrike harvests his victims,” Jack walked further into the room and stopped just beside Elise Nichols’ clothed body. “There are still seven bodies unaccounted for, and two missing boys. We have to find them before the media goes in an uproar.”

“He’s eating them,” Will swallows audibly. “What were their names again? Hobbs’ two boys?”

Jack gives him a blank look. “It was written there, in the first page.”

“It hadn’t been a priority.”

“Then what is a priority to you, Will?” Jack’s voice held the poison of a hissing tiger and Will almost took a step back. “Abigail Hobbs? Tell me you aren’t still guilty of her condition when, clearly, she had been doing fine before Hobbs became sloppy.”

Will drew back as if stung at the veiled incrimination and licked his chapped lips. “Are you implying that Hobbs had an accomplice?”

The tiger seemed to have been contained and Jack shrugged. “Someone who happens to be his obsession, who also happens to be an accomplice. He can’t have eaten all those girls without help.”

Will pursed his lips, not quite able to believe Jack’s quick accusations but held his tongue. “What are the boys’ names?”

Thankfully, Jack accepted the change of subject. “Hadrian James and Thomas Marvolo Hobbs.”

“Those are peculiar names.”

“Sounds European to me,” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Is there something you are forgetting to tell me, Will?”

Will took a moment to think about it, his fingers playing with the scrap of paper— _parchment?—_ that he had stuffed in his pocket. Reluctantly, he pulled it out, knowing that he could be charged for obstruction of justice. Besides, what would he do with a piece of parchment with an unhelpful note scribbled on it? Might as well give it to Jack who could do anything with it, maybe even find the boys.

Jack took a few minutes examining the paper before pinning Will with a stare. “I won’t ask you where you got this because that would only tell me you disregarded necessary procedures.”

Will shifted. “I-I need to go. Doctor Lecter will be expecting me in a few hours.” So that might be a lie, but Will was starting to feel uncomfortable around the people, few as they may be, and _technically_ he would have been in his car right now, driving back to Wolf trap if Jack hadn’t called him about the two missing boys.

And Will wanted to know how Abigail Hobbs is.

Jack seemed to understand— _hopefully_ —and merely nodded before going to one of the uniformed men. Quickly receiving the dismissal, Will hastily makes his way out.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Guilt and unease swirled around his head as he sat in his car. He had parked in the hospital where Abigail was sent to and was debating with himself whether he should step out of his car or not. Even then, he would have to argue with himself whether he should put the right foot forward or the left foot forward.

Will sighed tiredly and rubbed his face. Last night, he was all for visiting, and he would have left the motel as soon as the first rays of sunlight showed itself. But then Jack called and he had to go back to the Hobbs residence.

Then he found out Hobbs had two more children who are currently missing with only a scrawled note on a parchment as clue. Abigail had been pushed to the back of his mind until he wanted to leave. So then Will, with his mind running around in circles, drove here and was now struggling with himself.

It would seem, however, that he did not need to decide for himself when a knock on the window snapped him from his thoughts. Glancing beside him, Will was surprised to see Doctor Lecter. Hastily, Will rolled down the window.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will stared somewhere around the psychiatrist’s stomach. “I was not expecting you here.”

Doctor Lecter bent down and Will was forced to shift his stare at the doctor’s chin. “I must confess that I am quite surprised at finding you hereabout.”

Will shifted in his seat, knowing that it wasn’t polite to talk to someone through a car window. However, he doesn’t know what he had to do and instead removed his hands from the steering wheel. He remained silent, not knowing what to say.

It seemed that Lecter took pity on him and straightened himself. “I suppose this is not the place to have our conversation,” Will could feel the amusement coming from the man. “Would I be correct in assuming that you are here to visit Abigail?”

“What do you think?” Will was proud that it didn’t come out nearly as cutting as it could be.

“What I think, dear Will, is that you have a sense of attachment to Abigail Hobbs. Tell me, do you feel responsible for what happened to Ms. Hobbs?”

Will grimaced. “I really don’t think this is the time for this conversation Doctor Lecter.”

“You’re right, how terribly rude of me,” The other man paused, assessing the situation. “Perhaps we’ll continue this at a later time… shall we say at 7:30 in the evening? You do have an appointment with me later, Will. Uncle Jack made sure of that.”

“Of course,” Will almost scoffed. “Wouldn’t want his fragile teacup to shatter.”

“Jack only thinks that it will be best for you to be able to talk to someone about your cases, Will. The mind of a criminal can be one of the greatest labyrinths and what good would it be to find your way in only to get lost on your way back?”

With those parting words, Doctor Lecter inclined his head in a bid of goodbye before leaving Will once again alone in his car.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will looks down when he heard Lecter’s steps. The doctor had a piece of paper in his hands, angled towards him which made him frown.

“What’s that?”

“Your psychological evaluation,” Doctor Lecter reads through it. “You’re totally functional and more or less sane. Well done.”

“Did you just rubberstamp me?” Will frowns in disbelief. “And when did I need a psychological evaluation? I don’t remember agreeing to any of this.”

“Jack Crawford wanted to make sure he didn’t break you,” Lecter puts the paper down and sits on one of the armchairs, back facing Will. “He may have contacted me this afternoon. I recall informing you of this appointment, had I not? Jack had asked me to do an evaluation he could present to the board before they, in his words, complain about having you in the field.”

 “I’m not broken,” Will spat bitterly.

“Jack Crawford seems to think so. You _have_ shot Garret Jacob Hobbs ten times. However, I prefer that we have our conversation at your own pace and interest, not thinking of Uncle Jack’s delicate tea cups.”

Will bit his tongue to stop himself from giving a cutting retort, doing his best to ignore the purring and growling darkness that caressed his being in a loving embrace.

“Have you ever been inside a serial killer’s mind, Doctor Lecter?” Will broke the uncomfortable silence, deciding to steer away from the talk of breaking and tea cups. “What am I talking about, of course you have. It’s just—” Will sighs in frustration and Lecter remained silent. “This case— _Hobbs’_ case—is so… _different_. It’s like we’re looking at the big picture and yet the frame refuses to hold the pieces together.”

Will stopped, his hands in his pockets as he lets his gaze flit around doctor Lecter’s form. The psychiatrist, despite his patient being somewhere above and behind him in an illusion of having power and control over what is happening, remained relaxed on his chair.

Finally, Lecter turns his body in the general direction of where Will is. “And what is it that makes this case different?”

Will tilts his head. “Everything. The girls, the antlers, the way he’s honoring them… and let’s not forget the missing bodies. You tell me what is different about him, doctor, you’re the psychiatrist.”

“I did not mean it that way, Will. Surely there is something that makes this case standout for you as a criminal profiler of your caliber.”

Will lets out a sardonic chuckle. “My caliber? What I have isn’t something special.”

“Most people would argue that what you have is a gift.”

“Most people don’t know the line between a gift and a curse.”

Lecter paused. “Do you consider what you have as curse?”

“Being able to give justice to criminals who deserve it? Yes, of course it’s a gift. But…” Will tries to find the right words but they wouldn’t come. The feeling of someone else being inside his head always left an oily bitterness in Will’s mouth and when his mind clears, it would always feel like his own body felt too tight around him, as if it wasn’t his anymore.

“Being highly empathic as you are, I imagine it must be difficult to separate yourself from those of others. How does it make you feel; having to delve into the minds of the deprived to save the lives of those who won’t even thank you?”

Will had a wry smirk on his face. “Not all jobs involve talking in a one-on-one basis, nor do all jobs allow people to thank you.”

“And yet you still chose to be with the FBI knowing what it might do to you. What makes you think that they won’t turn their backs on you the moment you become a liability?”

“Are you estranging me from the FBI doctor Lecter?” Will had to clench his fists to stop them from shaking.

“I am only voicing what seems to be on your mind, Will. Uncle Jack seems to favor you now but he isn’t the only one working in the FBI. The only one besides Jack who would willingly support you is Alana Bloom and even then, you do not seem close.”

“I don’t need _friends_.”

“Need or want? The terms can be easily interchangeable and you are pushing people as far away from you as possible. That is an unhealthy habit, dear Will.”

Will scoffs this time. “Now you tell me it’s ‘unhealthy’ after rubberstamping me for the FBI. I don’t think having any unhealthy habits would allow me to pass a psych eval.”

“I am only telling you this because you seem to have a certain amount of obligation over Abigail’s fate. You have come to the hospital with the intention of visiting her when, presumably, so many have been in her place before this.”

“I—” Will falters. “I did not visit her.”

This seems to have thrown the doctor off the loop but Will didn’t have the time to appreciate doing what seems to have been impossible task.

 Truly, he _hadn’t_ visited Abigail Hobbs. He didn’t know why—avoidance, maybe? But the thought of seeing her somehow made the guilt heavier. What would she think? Her parents were dead, her father a criminal, and her brothers were missing. Will didn’t need to speak to Abigail to know that she blames him. Everyone does.

“Then may I inquire why you were at the hospital?”

“I have—” Will stutters out, suddenly feeling very tongue-tied.  “I _had_ intended to visit her but I—I don’t think I could face her.”

Lecter seems to think about what he is going to say next. “Was there anything that changed your view of Abigail Hobbs?”

And Will remembers that Jack hadn’t informed Lecter of the new development in the Hobbs’ case.

_Nor did he update you when you left_. But Will ignored that little voice in his head.

“Abigail Hobbs isn’t an only child,” Will starts slowly, his mind going over what he knew. “They have found adoption papers for two more boys as well as the room where they stayed in. No traces of them were found anywhere besides the adoption papers in Hobbs’ files.”

“How old were they?”

“They _are_ 11 and adopted by the Hobbs’s when they were 5.”

“What happened to them? You seem to put an emphasis on the present tense.”

“Missing. They—” Will sighed. “The only clue we found was a scrap of parchment with a note.”

“And Garret Jacob Hobbs didn’t kill them?”

“ _No_ , I—” Will bit his lip. “ _He_ wouldn’t kill them. They were the ones who came to him and he knew they would never leave him. They deserved to be free and not tied up but that didn’t mean anyone else needed to know of them. Their identity in exchange of their freedom. Even if they want to leave him, they can’t because they would need his help to _exist_ in our society.”

“And now Hobbs has the satisfaction of knowing that they can’t exist even after his death,” Lecter nods as he reached his own conclusion. “Just like having the satisfaction of knowing _he_ made an impact to you.”

Will grimaced but agreed, not even thinking to disagree. “Wouldn’t they all want that.”

“Quite so,” Lecter nods. “And where would the boys be?”

“Somewhere…” Will gathers everything he knew about the Hobbs’s, mind working quickly. “Somewhere Garret Jacob Hobbs is familiar with, probably where they first met. It would be somewhere public… but…”

“Wouldn’t they have heard of what happened to their family by now? I don’t believe the FBI made an effort to cover it up.”

Will felt words die at his throat as he came to the same conclusion Lecter is leading him to.

“We won’t find them,” Will rubbed his mouth, his tongue feeling a lot heavier. “Not unless they want _us_ to find them. They would have already known about Abigail surviving and yet they never appeared. Hobbs taught them better than that.”

“How can mere children their age be able to hide from the FBI?”

“Hobbs,” Will swallowed. “ _Knew_ what he was doing but he also wants someone to know. He wanted to pass on his… _hobbies_ —” Will took a startled breath in realization. “He would teach it to his own children, to have a firmer leash on them,” And with a resigned voice, Will added, “Jack might be correct after all.”

“There’s no sure way to know whether Jack is correct or not, Will. Abigail might be innocent or she may be not.”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” And then Will blinks, anger and disbelief mingling in his mind. “You’ve known, haven’t you?”

Lecter neither denied nor approved his accusation. “I’ve been working with different kinds of people and there is one thing that is constantly present in them. They want to be understood.”

Slightly hysterical, Will chuckles, “Right, you’re not FBI. You are not obligated to tell anyone about it.”

Lecter tilts his head to the side, “I have no grounded basis on my assumption that could hold on to the court.”

Will snorts out a breath and leaned on the banister. He opened his mouth to say something but thought better of it, instead sucking at his teeth and putting his head between his hands.

“What will you do now?” Lecter prods with an encouraging tone. “I highly doubt you would let this go.”

“God, they’re children,” Will sounded troubled. “I—I don’t think I could—I don’t know what to do.”

“They are but a result of Garret Jacob Hobbs’ madness,” Lecter prompted further. “As you said, they are but children who were guided into their path. They may not have noticed that they went down the rabbit hole.”

Will growls under his breath in frustration, his hands rubbing furiously at his face. He knows what doctor Lecter is doing—highly aware of it even. Seriously, what kind of psychiatrist would convince someone to turn a blind eye on murderers?

_That isn’t true. Abigail Hobbs is the only accomplice, not the other two boys._

But killing people is murder, no matter what their excuse is.

_Like how you killed Hobbs? You hypocrite._

 It was like he swallowed tons of gravel and it now sits uneasily in his stomach, his throat scratched up from the sharp edges.

“I—” Will takes a deep breath, feeling like he was sinking deeper into the darkness he spent _years_ in running away from, “Jack doesn’t need to know all of this. Abigail did what her father asked her to like a good daughter would, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

And then the black feathered stag was right beside him, deep dark eyes gleaming in smug triumph.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Garret Jacob Hobbs never quite left him yet. Frequently, Will found himself seeing his ghost and it would send him to panic. It was only his work, teaching at the FBI academy, that served as his saving grace, immersing himself in the minds of other _less likely_ to haunt him in his sleep criminals. And the almost helpless case of searching for Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs.

It seems that his problems always had something to do with the name ‘Hobbs’. And that brought him to where he is now.

He never quite worked up the courage to visit Abigail Hobbs. Not until today.

Will stood there, next to Hannibal Lecter, as they entered the hospital room that housed the comatose body of Abigail Hobbs.

The first thing Will notes is the thick bandage around her neck.

_Beautiful_.

Will tugged at his hair to stop his thoughts.

“Will? Is there something wrong?”

Releasing his hair, Will lets his gaze pass over a concerned looking doctor Lecter and walks into the room, settling himself down on the couch near the foot of the hospital bed. Impertinent as it may be to leave the good doctor standing near the doorway, Will mustered everything he has not to care.

Lecter studies him before closing the door behind him and taking off his coat, draping it at the back of the chair beside the bed and then the doctor sits himself on it.

Will was quite fine with the silence around them, delighting in his blissfully void thoughts. For the first time in a while, the monsters in his head are silent.

“How is the progress regarding the search for Abigail’s brothers?”

Will sighed, “Not great. The note was written on a piece of parchment made from… skin, the DNA matching with one of the girls,” Will almost felt horrible for sounding so unaffected, but everything, not only the monsters, were oddly silent. “The fingerprints matched with some found in the house but none in the database. Nothing in the house _or_ Hobbs’ cabin pointed us to any correct direction.”

“And what of the boys’ origins?”

“Origins?” Will thinks back to all the information the reports Jack gave to him and the disturbing lack of appropriate data. “There wasn’t _anything._ Not even a missing person’s report in the smallest little town or village in America.”

Lecter descended into pensive silence and Will lets him. All insights they could gather on this case could be useful and appreciated, and Will isn’t prideful enough not to ask his _psychiatrist_.

After a moment, Lecter speaks up. “A person’s place of birth may hold a certain fondness in their minds as time passes by. Might I suggest that you try to broaden your search to other countries?”

Will shakes his head. “They won’t be able to leave the country without trace, taught or not. They’re both children.” Lecter seemed to be taking in his words so Will continued. “And I doubt the FBI has the resource to search all over the world for two boys. It’s probably only Jack and his team who are actively searching for Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs.”

“Dear Will, the world wide web is capable of many things,” Lecter states. “And a missing person’s report is quite public.”

Will falls silent. Lecter has a point, every detail they could find on the boys would be helpful and yet… Will can’t exactly explain the feeling of dread that pooled at his stomach. Looking away from Lecter’s perfectly ironed collar, his gaze landed on the other body in the room.

“You are aware that Abigail will ask for them as soon as she wakes up.”

It seems Lecter knew that the subject was closed.

“Yes,” Will stares at the feathered stag that was leaning near Abigail’s head. “I don’t know how they are going to tell the news to her.”

“Jack might ask us to talk to her after she wakes up,” Lecter crosses his legs, head tilted away in thought. “Would you tell him if Abigail does confess?”

“No.” Will surprised himself with his immediate answer. A glance at the doctor had Will shaking his head. Doctor Lecter looked every bit satisfied and a few parts delighted. Will doesn’t know what to think of that.

“And what had caused your conviction to your decision? It has been my understanding that you hold your morality close to you.”

“Will Graham, FBI criminal profiler, not holding true to his morals? Blasphemy,” Will’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “It’s the evidence that talks, doctor Lecter. And there isn’t any evidence to Abigail’s involvement in any of the crimes. I’d say she didn’t do it, but I know better,” Will uncharacteristically held the doctor’s gaze. “ _You_ know better.”

“Perhaps it is better that things remain that way.”

“I thought you would push me to tell you what I _feel_ about it.”

“Do you want me to? We’re not in therapy, Will.”

Will remains silent, watching the steady rise and fall of the unconscious body in the room. “I think it’s my _moral obligation_.”

“Hardly,” Lecter leans forward slightly. “Saying that it is your moral obligation implies that you have a set of values that hides behind the dark places you enter.”

Will hesitates before answering, “Maybe not.”

“Or you merely suppress them with the burdens other people give to you.”

This had Will shutting his mouth. A high-pitched ringing sound dominated his hearing, blocking out other sounds.

_Inconsequential. Trivial. Unimportant. You’re only good when they say so—_

Suddenly, Will’s imagination took the better of him and darkness bled _into_ him and _he needed it to stop because years of separating himself wouldn’t matter—_

Will urgently shut his eyes and brought a hand to rub at it furiously. When he opened his eyes, Lecter was standing in front of him, a flashlight in his hand that the doctor was pointing at his eyes.

“Calm down, Will,” Lecter’s voice was soothing, clearly heard from the deafening ring. “That’s right. Focus on the light.”

When Will finally regained his breath, Lecter was still crouched in front of him. Will was paying attention when— _did he just-?_

“Did you just _smell_ me?” Will stares in disbelief as the doctor merely stood up as if he did not just disturb Will’s already unstable mind.

“My sense of smell is quite sharp,” Lecter sits down on his chair. “I find that I can tell what a person ate or did before I met them. Have you been recently practicing your skills in firearms?”

“I—” Will falters at the explanation but was more than glad for ignoring his semi panic attack. “Yes. It took me 10 bullets to bring down Hobbs; I’d be horrible in the field if I kept it up.”

Will flinched as his phone vibrated in his pocket. He fumbled a bit before pulling it out and glancing at the caller ID. Seeing that it was Jack, he stumbled up.

“I-uh—” Will hurriedly tried to make an excuse but chose to stick to the truth. “Jack is calling. I need to answer this. I’ll make sure to notify you if I have to leave.”

Will hastily walked down the halls of the hospital until he reached the parking lot, his phone merrily vibrating in his hand. Once outside, he answered the call.

“ _What do you know about gardening?_ ”

It seems Jack is becoming fond of odd greetings. What happened to the polite ‘Hello’ or ‘Good morning’?

“Nothing much, I prefer boat motors. I don’t have a green thumb either.”

“ _Well come here and get a crash course._ ” A moment’s pause and then, _“You could bring Doctor Lecter if he’s with you._ ”

That was all Jack said before hanging up.

Sliding his phone back to his pocket, Will sighed. What kind of case would require the word ‘gardening’? Nonetheless, Will made his way back into the hospital and Abigail’s room. Doctor Lecter could come if he wants, though he doubted it. The doctor would be a great barrier between him and Jack though.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

As Jack’s _favorite pet—_ an all so abhorred but apt term—Will has a few advantages to get off it. For one, the FBI leaves him alone. Whether it be their accusations or, most importantly in situations such as these, bothering him when working on a killer’s profile.

Gazing at the scene before him, Will absently notes that it has the potential to call on Tattle Crime’s attention. Growing a mushroom garden using people’s bodies could be sensational to others, most certainly that vulture, Freddie Lounds.

_Tasteless_ , as he had described to Lecter, but an invaluable source of information otherwise inaccessible even to him. He is a consultant, not an agent.

“Line and rebar were used to administer intravenous fluids after they were buried,” Zeller reports, grimacing at the growing mushrooms on the body he was examining. “He was feeding them something.”

“No restraints?”

Price looked at him oddly but answered him, “Just dirt.”

Will nods jerkily. That doesn’t tell him anything except for knowing that the suspect keeps his victims unconscious throughout their ‘burial’.

Lecter was surveying the scene with a curious gleam in his eyes but otherwise remained unobtrusive. Will wishes to know what the doctor gathered just by looking at the scene, after all, Lecter is as observant as anyone could be and coupled with his specialized knowledge on how the human mind works, Lecter can be just as astute as Will can be, minus the crazies, of course.

Jack arrives and Will is distracted from his examination of his psychiatrist.

“Welcome back.”

Will licks his lips, “Back to what? I never disappeared, Jack.”

“To the field,” Jack clarifies with a _look_. “You’re the best man I have.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to have a psychological evaluation,” Will reminds, a slight bitterness to his tone. “Lecter was the one who had to tell me that.”

Jack sighs, “You won’t have agreed if I asked you to, Will.”

“Therapy doesn’t work on me,” Will stresses. “I know all the tricks.”

“Then unlearn them,” Jack replies heavily and with finality. “What’s done is done. The board didn’t rise up a fuss when I presented them your psych eval. Now I want you to do your thing and tell me who did this.”

Will’s jaw tensed in irritation. What did Jack think he does? Magic?

Nonetheless, Will takes a deep breath to calm himself. It won’t do to let Jack get under his skin. Lecter sends him an approving glance and Will finds a weak sense of pride in it. Shaking his head to remove the puzzling thought, Will watches as he let the pendulum swing.

:::...~~~-0-~~~…::: **_*The following lines came from the series itself. It is, in no way, mine.*_**

As a tabloid journalist, Freddie had the liberty of choosing her topic. As a girl, she had wanted to be a cop, but her small stature didn’t allow it. Not that it was impossible, but it was enough for her to lose hope.

 Now she still wanted to be one, but she took a shine towards journalism. It allowed her to use her cunning and charm to get into records that are otherwise classified, only to be able to share it to the world.

Everyone deserved to know what is going on, even if that meant putting her life on the line.

She _had_ wanted to be a cop, and it goes without saying that she is willing to sacrifice a lot of things for justice.

And staring at a man that looked so out of place in the scene of a crime, Freddie knew that this would be different from her previous articles.

“Excuse me,” She had hidden her camera in her bag before approaching the nearest detective. “I’m one of the parents of the explorers who found the bodies. I wanted to thank you for being so good with all the boys.”

Men were easy to manipulate. A little bit of uncertainty here, a shy smile there, and a grateful gleam in the eyes. They won’t even know of the vulture behind her mask until she sinks her claws in them.

“Those boys were very brave.”

She almost rolled her eyes, “They are good boys.”

“Yeah.”

She shifts to glance uncertainly at the man standing alone at the scene and she knew the detective beside her looked at him too.

“Would it be an imposition to ask a few things?” Freddie stares at the man. “The boys are gonna have questions and I just want to be as honest with them as—”

“Of course.”

“Can you, uh,” Freddie shifts her glance at the detective and saw him staring at the man as well. “Tell me what that man is doing over there by himself?”

The detective looks around uneasily. “He’s some kind of special consultant. Works for the FBI. He came here with that man over there,” The detective gestures over to a man wearing a suit talking to Jack Crawford of the FBI. “I think that one’s a psychiatrist. Consultant as well.”

“Huh,” Freddie nods. She watches as the man seemed to be in some kind of trance, kneeling beside the shallow grave.

Suddenly, the man gasped, looking around in panic. Unfortunately, Freddie was too far away to be able to understand what they are saying but the men that congregated near where the man was staring at before told her that something had happened.

Freddie watched in interest as the psychiatrist wearing a _suit_ went to the ‘special’ consultant— _she really has to get their names_ —who was gripping a tree like it was a lifeline—or perhaps something that is grounding him.

The psychiatrist spoke to the consultant until the panicking man nodded and shakily took the offered hand.

_Interesting, indeed_.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…::: **_*Back to fanfiction but a few may still be recognized as before.*_**

“What is it that you saw, Will?”

Will knew that he was trembling and that his mind was miles away, but Lecter’s voice snapped him back to reality. His hands gripping the tree behind him, Will swallowed and started to calm his breathing.

“Was it… Hobbs?” Lecter continued to talk to him. “Have you displaced the victim of another killer’s crime with what could arguably be considered your victim?”

Will still refused to answer, staring right through the psychiatrist.

Lecter leaned in further. “Will?” When Will remained the way he was, Lecter offered a hand. “Please take my hand Will, Jack might want to talk to you.”

Finally, Will broke his stare and glanced down at the offered hand. Lecter was looking at him expectantly, encouraging him to take his hand.

For a moment, it was Hobbs that he sees in Lecter’s place but when he blinks, his hand moved on their own volition and took the assistance the psychiatrist gave him.

Will looks expectantly at the doctor but Lecter merely led him over to his car. Jack, however, had different plans and went to approach the two of them.

Before Jack could say anything, Lecter held up a hand, silencing the other man.

“I believe,” Lecter glance at Will. “That the stress is getting to Will. I’ll take him back to Baltimore with me. Our bodies need rest and it would seem like Will wasn’t sleeping properly this past few days.”

It was true. Every time he closes his eyes, he would feel like someone— _or something_ —is watching him. Scrutinizing every move he made, made worse by the fact that it was _dark_ and he can’t see anything. In the end, sleeping just wasn’t worth being overly paranoid of.

And before he was aware of anything, Lecter was already pulling away from the scene in his Bentley, Will a silent companion beside him.

The soft tones of classical music filled in the silence. Will let it, instead bringing his gaze into the scenery passing by.

“Your,” Will starts as the tune of the melody changed. “Psychological evaluation may have been premature.”

“I do not believe so, Will,” Lecter’s attention never wavered from the road and yet he had answered. “As I have said, it is merely stress that is causing you to mistake things. The search for the two Hobbs boys isn’t going well, is it not?”

“No,” Will shakes his head with a resigned sigh. “Nothing.”

Lecter remained silent and Will had the feeling that the psychiatrist is thinking over what he is going to say. Hannibal Lecter was odd like that. Every word that comes out of his mouth well thought out, every gesture calculated. So tightly in control was he that Will wasn’t entirely blinded from the man’s _person suit_.

There was something behind the sophisticated man. But Will knew he wouldn’t to figure out just _what_ is beneath that mask. He was aware and Will wanted to know what horrible, _horrible_ thing would be prowling behind calculating eyes.

_I don’t find you interesting_.

Will knew he had the habit of lying.

And if the stag became much more prominent in his dream when he sleeps later at night, Will thought nothing of it, and wakes up in cold sweat, heart pounding erratically.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Freddie Lounds is a bitch, plain and simple.

Will imagines her face and body in the stead of Garret Jacob Hobbs. Imagines the horror etched on her face as he pulls the trigger not only once, but until the gun emits nothing more than empty clicks. Imagines the blood pouring out of the bullet wounds paint the floor and walls a beautiful red, her russet curls spilling on the floor and being dampened by her own blood.

Jack’s cussing didn’t alleviate the anger bubbling deeply inside of Will.

Will barely heard anything beyond the noises in his head. The loud roaring of the monsters inside him grew louder as his anger increased, eyes darkening as he read the article Lounds wrote about him.

Perhaps shoving her wicked fingers into her chest until it is buried under her ribs, positioning her fingers just so, as if her hands are cradling her heart? Carve her own words all over her naked body?

“I think you should go back now, Will.”

Will snaps out of his thoughts, fingers twitching as if he wanted to grab something until he realized what he was doing so he shoved his hands into his pockets.

 Jack notices and shoots him a look. Will didn’t feel guilty but makes himself look to be contrite.

“Yes, I—” Will licks his lips. “I should probably…”

“Do you need help?”

Will startles, staring at Beverly Katz as she calmly lifted a zip lock and examine its contents in the light. She glances at him, offering a shrug.

“I think you need help,” She says. “Or a lot of beer.”

Will goggled for a while before turning around to walk away.

_I don’t need_ friends.

Before he leaves, Will replies, “I prefer whiskey.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will visits Abigail, the first time he came here alone and of his own volition. He sits down on the couch and watched the steady rise and fall of her chest. He never noticed it when he fell asleep.

He wakes up to the sound of someone else talking.

Tensing at the unfamiliar presence of another person, Will focuses on maintaining his deep breathing. He peaks an eye open and immediately recognized who’s in the room.

“Alana,” He says in surprise.

Alana stops reading out loud and closed the book she was holding. She turned to look at him with her usual air of comfort and peace. Will would call it naivety but he doesn’t think it would be an appreciated comment.

“I’m surprised you’re here without Hannibal,” Alana comments as she tilts her head to the side. “I don’t think you’ve ever stepped foot on this room willingly.”

“Yeah, uh,” Will shifts into a more comfortable position. “Wolf Trap isn’t really a short drive from where I came from.”

Alana looks away from him and Will knows he won’t like what comes out of her mouth next.

“I’m about to broach the subject of that “Takes One to Know One” article.”

Honestly, Will was too tired for Lounds’ shit. Instead, he shot back, “No, you don’t want to.”

Awkward silence settled around them and Will happily let it, mood soured at the bear thought of Freddie Lounds.

Taking pity on the guilty look on Alana’s face, Will said, “Did Jack send you?”

“Might be,” Alana fiddled with the covers on Abigail’s bed. “But I prefer my own decision of going here, instead of saying that Jack _pleaded_ with me to find you. I said I didn’t expect you to be here, after all.”

“Of course,” Will replies drily.

“How’s the search for Abigail’s brothers?”

Will wasn’t able to stop the sarcasm in his words, “Haven’t you asked Jack yet?”

“No,” Alana’s tone implied her disbelief at such an accusation. “Why would I? Jack believes in the worse of people, Abigail not able to escape such a fate.”

Will nodded. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

Alana shifts, her eyes boring into him with an intense look. “Honestly, Will, how are you? We haven’t talked since that incident with Hobbs.”

Annoyance swelled in him but Will pushed it aside. Alana, in essence, is a caring woman; compassionate to a fault and stubborn when it comes to the well-being of those she cares for. Will just so happens to be one of those and he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

“I’m fine,” Will’s mind fills with the blood on his hands. “Really—I’m fine.”

He _really_ is such a liar.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will surprises himself when two days after that visit with Abigail Hobbs and subsequent talk with Alana Bloom, his feet brought him back into the hospital room. He wasn’t really supposed to be here alone but Doctor Lecter found himself in a hurriedly made appointment with a patient.

Stopping briefly as he took in his impulsive decision, Will sighed and plopped himself on the couch. He should have at least brought a book or something to occupy his mind. Already, just gazing at the bedridden form built a mounting itch at the back of his mind that he _should do something_.

Chasing the trail of Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs has been very unproductive. Even the suggestion of the good doctor provided no new information. Except for the brutal murders in Europe 8 years ago.

The first victims to be found were a couple. Their mauled and half-eaten bodies were left to rot somewhere in Surrey, England. Nothing, not even their dental records, could have been used to identify the corpses.

Then bodies in similar, if not worse, condition started to be found around the United Kingdom. In some of those corpses, bodily penetration had been done, while others seemed to have been violated simply for the sake of it not to be recognized. There was no method, no pattern.

Then the murders stopped somewhere around 6 years ago. According to what the Scotland Yard had announced, the murders were linked together by a brand on the most intact part of the flesh of the corpses. No photo was ever released or leaked, not even from the infamous Tattle Crime that had branched out throughout the world for the most sensational news.

The autopsy reports, also, were inaccessible to him since he only found it from old newspaper articles and blogs of those who had an unhealthy interest with serial killers.

Will had the feeling it could be connected but with no logical basis except for his gut feeling, Will never voiced it out. Maybe Doctor Lecter could provide a better judgment? Perhaps a different point of view could help.

It served to add to the stress of tracking down Eldon Stammets. The man may be old but he wasn’t clumsy. That or the FBI is showing its incompetence at finding _one_ man.

Lost in thought, Will barely noticed when the door opened. His hand immediately flew to his gun when he recognized the man entering the room. Will scrabbled up from the couch.

Their eyes met and the man, Eldon Stammets, held his hand up in the air when Will pointed the gun at him.

The tense atmosphere was disturbed by the sound of Will’s phone ringing. It rang a few times before Will slowly reached for it.

“Don’t move,” Will adjusted his hold on the gun. “Hello?”

“ _It’s Jack,_ ” There was a bit of a crackle on the other line. “ _Are you at the Hospital?_ ”

Will’s eyes darted to Stammets who was obediently standing there, watching him apprehensively. “I am.”

“ _Stammets knows about Abigail Hobbs._ ”

Will’s index finger twitched against the trigger, inwardly glad that he didn’t have the time to take off the safety. Stammets didn’t need to know that.

“Get here,” Will drawled and then abruptly hung up. He threw his phone on the couch and adjusted his grip properly. “Close the door.”

Stammets did as told without breaking eye contact. Will was grateful that he didn’t remove his eyeglasses because the sheer _need_ in the man’s eyes would have been too much. The former pharmacist pleaded with his gaze, not even bothering to open his mouth to talk.

_I know. I understand. But I want you to understand me too._

Will resisted the urge to close his eyes; instead he diverted his gaze away. He has Stammets trapped in here and the man doesn’t seem keen on escaping anyway, so Will just had to keep it up until Jack arrives.

“The journalist said you understood me.”

Keep it up _how?_

“What do you mean?”  Will decided that keeping him talking was a great idea.

“I know who you’re reaching for,” Stammets told him with a strong voice filled with confidence. “I know. I’ll help you. She’ll finally be able to reach back!”

Will remains silent, pretending that he wasn’t in the least bit affected by the words that came stumbling out of Stammets’ mouth.

“We all evolved from mycelium,” Stammets continued his passionate speech. “I’m simply going to introduce her to the concept. If you walk through a field of mycelium, they know you are there. They will reach out to you, to communicate with you. Then she’ll finally be able to talk to you and _see_ that you are what she needs!”

Will’s index finger unconsciously tensed on the trigger. Stammets was clearly delusional by this point and no amount of reasoning would make the pharmacist believe otherwise. Will almost wished he could have a valid reason to shoot the man but Stammets was unarmed and haven’t even done anything resembling hostile.

“By burying her alive?” It was said only to make Stammets talk. At the back of Will’s head, Stammets’ profile was becoming clearer and clearer with every word the man spouted.

“You _would have found her in the field!_ ” Stammets was near hysterical now. “She would finally be able to talk to you!”

Will pitied the man.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will stared into nothing, letting the faint scratching of pen on paper wash away all his thoughts. Jack sent him, _again_ , to Lecter. It’s not like it was Will who arranged the appointments, right?

“What stopped you from shooting Eldon Stammets?”

Will turns to shoot Lecter an incredulous look. “You’re asking me why I _didn’t_ shoot Stammets?”

“In a way,” Lecter’s hand moved in an almost sheepish gesture. “I would not have held it against you had you shot Eldon Stammets.”

“I didn’t,” Will snorts derisively. “Because I didn’t remove the safety nor did Stammets do anything to deserve it.”

“But if he had succeeded in retrieving Abigail, would you have pulled the trigger?”

“No—” Will pauses. “I would. My finger _twitched_ at least twice.”

“Did you have the intention to kill Eldon Stammets?”

“I wouldn’t have felt _excitement_ if I did shoot Stammets,” As it left his mouth, Will tasted the sour tones of deception. “In fact, I _didn’t_ feel any when I shot Hobbs.”

“Then what was it that made you pull the trigger repeatedly?”

“I _liked_ it when I killed Hobbs,” Will saw no point in hiding this to his conniving psychiatrist.

Something flickers in Lecter’s eyes and Will imagines that bloodcurdling screams and pleads of mercy won’t stop the man from doing what he pleases.

“Killing must feel good to God too,” Lecter puts down his pen and Will felt a compulsion to look at the man. “He does it all the time. And are we not created in his image?”

Feeling slightly breathless, Will swallows. “That depends on who you ask.”

“God’s terrific,” Lecter leans back against his chair. “He dropped a church roof on 34 of his worshippers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn.”

Will was enthralled. “And did God feel good about that?”

A small smile—an upward twitch of his lips—bloomed on Lecter’s mouth.

“He felt _powerful_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a problem with Eldon Stammets so I did some research and I thought, hey, why not share it with those who are still not aware just why the hell mycelium:  
> “According to Paul Stamets, author of Mycelium Running: How Mushrooms Can Help Save the World, mycelium, mushroom and fungus can save the world because they can be used as medicine and natural cleaners.  
> Stamets believes that mycelium is part of a neurological network of nature that operates similar to the internet, allowing it to communicate with the planet and other species. This neurological network of nature can be found not only on Earth but also in the web structures of dark matter, the matrices of string theory and many parts of the Universe”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abigail wakes! Nah, that didn't sound as dramatic as I wanted it to be.

The sound of something vibrating beside him wrenched him away from the dark tendrils of his dreams. He woke up covered in cold sweat, his heart beating erratically at his chest. Collecting his thoughts seemed to be an impossible task when they kept slipping between his fingers.

Will pushed himself up with his elbow and groped in the darkness for his phone.

Light seeped through the closed curtains and Will didn’t need to look at the clock to know that it wasn’t very early in the morning. The sound of nails clicking on the floor alerted him that his pack was awake.

Finally grabbing his phone, Will didn’t even check the caller I.D. before answering it. With a groan he let his head fall back on his pillow.

“Hello?” His voice was a bit gruff from sleep but whoever it was that called him should have known better.

“ _I see that I have woken you from much needed sleep._ ”

The accented voice washed away any hold of his already forgotten dream.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will says in surprise. “I, uh, I didn’t expect to hear from you this early in the morning.”

“ _How many times have I told you to call me Hannibal,_ ” Le—Hannibal intoned. “ _Unless we are in a situation that requires us to be formal with each other, you are free to use my first name._ ”

“Yes, uh,” Will felt oddly flustered that caused him to shoot up into a sitting position. “Well—I—of course doctor—I mean, Hannibal.”

“ _Thank you,_ ” Hannibal’s voice oozed an appraisal that made Will’s stomach do uncomfortable impressions. “ _I would have called at a later time but such news can’t be kept waiting. I believe that this deserves a more personal meeting than to be relayed through a phone._ ”

“What?” Will threw his legs at the edge of the bed, his feet landing on the cold floor, gently batting away more than one curious muzzle. “I’m sorry, uh, what do you need to tell me?”

“ _I am on my way to Wolf Trap now,_ ” Hannibal’s voice booked no argument and Will found no protests coming from himself. “ _I would hate to impose on you in such short notice but I would feel more comfortable in telling you in person._ ”

Not really seeing a way out, Will stuttered, “Okay, I’ll, uh, I don’t think I have anything I could give you…”

“ _Nonsense,_ ” Hannibal sounded reproachful. “ _I am the one intruding on your personal space without much warning. Let me take care of those things._ ”

Will thinks of Hannibal’s expensive suits and remembers the amount of dog hair all over his home. Suddenly, he feels a bit embarrassed. It didn’t seem like a great idea to let the doctor inside his house but Hannibal said he was already on the way and even Will knew that protesting would be considered unsavory.

“Okay,” Will says instead. “Uh, where are you now if I may ask?”

There was a bit of silence on the other line and Will presumes that Hannibal must have taken a turn.

“ _I have just exited Maryland_.”

15 minutes tops. Will had enough time to change his clothes and tidy up a bit if he hangs up now. Removing the clatter his pack made would have to be first on the list though.

“I see, um, I’ll see you then.”

“ _Of course_.”

Will awkwardly pulls the phone away and hangs up. He threw his phone on his bed and scrubbed his face.

An ache in his head made itself known and Will pressed his palms to his eyes, willing away the pounding pain. Thankfully, it seems that his imagination is inclined to leave him be for the moment and only the white spots that resulted from the pressure on his eyes made itself known.

He only stood up when Winston’s cold, wet nose pressed against his cheek.

With a sigh, Will directed his pack to the door. “Alright, all of you out. I have to clean the mess you made in here.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

On hindsight, Will should have taken a shower instead of just changing into pants and an old sweater, but the sound of Hannibal’s Bentley and the dogs’ excited barking abolished the idea.

Will hesitantly made his way outside, absently noting that he should oil the hinges of the screen door.

No one, not even Alana, ever had the courtesy to call him before dropping by his house. This had prevented him from feeling anything besides the initial indignation and then resignation. Not much time to feel uncertain, really.

The dogs were curiously sniffing at the new vehicle in their home, and the way their tails wagged with such a force that their hinds wiggled never failed to amuse Will.

It was with a fond smile that Will greeted Hannibal, “Docto—er, Hannibal,” Will awkwardly stood a few steps away from the opened door of the Bentley. “It’s a—uh—pleasure? To have you here.”

Hannibal’s lips twitched in amusement, “I apologize for my hasty demand of entering your humble abode,” Hannibal closed the door of his car, a brown bag in one hand. “If I may, I have brought food and hope that this may appease you.”

“No, no,” Will shakes his head. “You haven’t bothered me or anything.”

Hannibal curiously eyed the excited pack. “How many dogs do you have?”

“Ah,” Will fidgets with the loose threads of the sleeve of his sweater. “Seven. Winston is a new addition to the family.”

The dogs soon lost interest when Hannibal made no move to give them food.  Awkward silence settled around them and Hannibal looks at him expectantly, encouraging.

“Oh,” Will licks his lips in embarrassment. “Oh, right, yes.” Will whistles loudly and the pack ran to him and he directed them into the house. “Please, uh, don’t mind the mess. I did my best to clean up some but not everything is organized.”

“That’s not an inconvenience to me, Will.” Hannibal follows a step behind him. “In fact, they say that a cluttered mess in your home points to a creative mind. If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, then what are we to think of an empty desk?”

“Probably someone who can think for himself,” Will knew, of course, what Hannibal is talking about but his response wasn’t something he was able to stop with his nerves already frayed at the edges. “Someone who has enough self-respect to clean up his own mess.”

“Ah,” They came to a stop in Will’s sparse kitchen-slash-dining room. “I am hesitant to think that you do not have self-respect, Will. I am merely pointing out what is the truth. You have a very creative mind, capable of connecting things together that no normal man could.”

Will stops in pulling out the plates, pursing his lips together in anger and nervousness. He feels like a caged animal, trapped in a cage of his own making with no place to go to besides the darkness that leads into the unknown.

“What is it that you really want, Doctor Lecter?” It came out in a harsh whisper that Will found no regret in using even with the doctor being nothing but amiable and respectful.

“I apologize,” Hannibal continues to be calm as he opened the bag he was holding and pulling out two ridiculously expensive looking ceramic tupperwares. “I had no intention of angering you.”

“No,” Will goes back in motion, placing the two plates on the small table. “You’re just my _psychiatrist_. There’s no way you could have prevented going under my skin.”

Will’s eyes flick over to the doctor and he was puzzled at the amused and secretive look on the dark eyes. He turned around to retrieve the silverware and arranged them on the table.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal watches and Will feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “But that does not excuse my rude behavior.”

Will blinks in surprise. “You haven’t, uh—you haven’t been _rude_ or anything, Hannibal. I just don’t like people going inside my head.”

Hannibal inclines his head in an annoyingly regal manner that Will never fails to be secretly awed at—and even more annoyed at it. Will, in essence, is an awkward man. Social situations never ended well to Will, much less _therapy_. No, his little home and family he had carved by himself in Wolf Trap “in-the-middle-of-nowhere”, Virginia was a perfect place for him to be.

His pack crowding around him jostled him from his thoughts.

Will notices that Hannibal was waiting for him to sit down, the table set neatly. Not knowing what to do more because of being out of practice than anything, Will awkwardly sat down and was relieved when Hannibal merely followed suit. It wasn’t like there was a book all about manners in another person’s company. If there was, not everyone has a perfect memory.

They started eating in silence after Hannibal told him what they were eating, which Will won’t be able to repeat even if his life depended on it. Thankfully, his pack knew what to do and trailed back into the living room.

Humming around a bite in appreciation, Will savored the food more befitting to be served at a high-end restaurant than his mismatched kitchen.

It was when they were nearly finished eating that Hannibal spoke again, “I believe now is the right time to tell you of the news.”

Will frowned and placed his fork down, the metal clicking on the ceramic, with no small amount of worry. “What are you going to tell me?”

Hannibal’s head twitched to the side in thought, “Abigail Hobbs woke up earlier this morning.”

Will froze in his seat, “You know how to drop the bomb discretely.” His tone was as dry as possible with his throat bobbing in anxiety.

“I prefer being straightforward.” Hannibal ate the last of his food and swallowed before speaking again. “And as we speak, Alana Bloom is on her way to talk to her.”

Will remains unmoving, thoughts bouncing back and forth. Abigail Hobbs woke up and Will had an overwhelming need to go to her, to tell her how sorry he is that he killed her father—that it was his fault that she is going to go through hell. At the same time, Will wanted nothing to do with her but the guilt he had buried these past weeks in work reared its head.

Suddenly, Will felt that he was _responsible_ for what happened to Abigail—of what is happening to her brothers.

“You cannot blame yourself with what had happened,” Hannibal’s calm voice broke through his trance and Will realizes that he was nearing a panic attack. “Garret Jacob Hobbs’ death was not a fault you committed.”

Will blinks and made the mistake of looking the other man in the eyes.

_The stare was blank, almost inhumanly so. A tightly controlled mix of emotions, a cocktail of thoughts muted in the background that no normal person could ever see. I wonder…would you be the one to peek behind the veil?_

“Finish your meal, Will,” Hannibal intones, gesturing at the unfinished meal.

Will mechanically grabs the fork and stares at his trembling hands. A pool of darkness even he could not comprehend fought its way through his muddled thoughts.

_And if thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee._

“Jack has expressed his thought of letting you see Abigail,” Hannibal starts again, a hint of amusement coloring his voice. “But dear Alana has blocked him in every way possible. I support her claims, however, as it would be detrimental to both your and Abigail’s mental health to give you time to prepare before anything happens.”

“Abigail doesn’t have anyone,” Will reasoned as his guilt reached great heights. “Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs are missing. Those all happened because of me.”

 “You do not have to convince me of anything, Will,” There was a flicker of emotion on the doctor’s body that Will could not put a name to. “Is that what you really think? Or perhaps you hear the voice of Garret Jacob Hobbs whispering to your ear whenever you settle down to sleep.”

Will grits his teeth, anger a slow trickle that filled the numbness that crawled over his mind.

“I don’t—” Will ground out. “—don’t _hear_ him.”

Hannibal nods, “You have said that you see him.”

“ _I have said_ ,” Will mocks defensively, lashing out in the only way he can think of. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, Doctor Lecter.”

In past experiences, Will knew that they just _push_ until either Will breaks or he answers what they want him to answer. So it was with surprise that jolted Will out of his expectations when Doctor Le— _Hannibal_ tips his head in acquiesces to Will’s demand.

“What’s so different about you?” Will blurts out in the mounting emotions that kept changing from one to another. “What makes you so _different_ from the others?”

Hannibal remains silent, letting Will simmer in his own erratic thoughts.

“You aren’t—” Will babbles further, preferring it to being sucked into his own mind. He doesn’t notice that he’s being drawn into another’s. “You’re not _normal_. You just want them to see you like that, finding amusement in their cluelessness. You revel in their naivety; that they don’t know that the lion is in the room.”

Will sinks in so slowly that he fails to notice it. His eyes fall shut as he sank in deeper and deeper.

“Ignorance is conquered by knowledge,” Will recites, reading it directly from deep within his mind—no, this isn’t his mind—Hobbs is just beside him— “Deception falls before the truth and yet we languish under ignorance. You _told_ me of the power God felt, of how he _killed_ all the time. It was His _punishment_ to those who didn’t do what He wants.”

It felt like he was _drowning_. He could see his frail little cage slowly succumbing to the darkness, the weak metal rusting and rotting until it crumbles into small lumps on the ground. The things he kept away from him slowly seeped into the cracks and holes.

“It must have felt _invigorating_ , giving out punishment to those who deserve it,” Will blinks, eyes glazed over and eye lids half-mast. “Like an avenging Angel of God. But you’re no Angel, are you, Doctor Lecter?”

Will could feel his heart at his throat, desperately trying to work its way out through his mouth.

“ _No_.”

The simple, honest answer startled Will enough that he physically jolted, his hand hitting the fork and creating a loud clatter that seemed to echo around the room.

Will shakily took deep breaths as his fragile mind came back to him. He felt as if a large part of him was forcibly torn away from him only to be filled in by a malleable _thing_. It made him fearful because Will knew he wasn’t strong enough to mold it back to what it was.

“I think you need to rest some more, Will,” Hannibal stood up in a fluid motion. “Rest assured that I will not leave your house a mess.”

As Will was guided through his own home, the only thought that entered his exhausted mind was to question how the stag-like creature managed to maneuver him through the cramped path to his bed.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

If you ask Will Graham how he imagines his first meeting with a lucid and conscious Abigail Hobbs, he would have gladly told you in a strained voice that he has no intention to do so. Of course most would say that it’s because he’s guilty about Garret Jacob Hobbs’ death, and they won’t be wrong. That is because Will Graham _is_ guilty of the murder of Garret Jacob Hobbs; that it is in self-defense matters not.

However, it’s fear that outweighs the remorse. Will’s scared of what Abigail would do in his presence, given that Will _knows_ about her involvement in her father’s hunts. It might have been a decision that left a bad taste at his mouth, but a decision uttered is a decision made—he just has to swallow the pill he created.

In fact, Will spent the few days following Hannibal’s visit in detached aloofness, only gracing his pack with any sincere emotions instead of the human beings he was forced to socialize with.

It came to a point that Will always had a bottle of whiskey waiting for him at a counter. It didn’t help that no matter how much Will tried to bury the fragments of Hannibal, it all came back unbidden, tempting him to look _deeper_. He knew he could solve the puzzle, only one piece is missing, and Will has the power to look for evidences to incriminate his psychiatrist.

The problem is—Will didn’t like the thought of finding another psychiatrist to talk to just because Jack needed his beauty sleep. Hannibal is already familiar and what Will needed is someone who could ground him. Hannibal had been doing a great job so far, certainly a lot better than his previous psychiatrists had been, or ever could have done.

That very train of thought caused Will to ‘accidentally’ throw his mobile phone into the ground with a definite smash that destroyed it. It would have been an easy task to go to the nearest repair shop to get his phone fixed. Will liked to have an excuse to ignore Jack’s calls, or any calls for that matter.

He forgot that his records in the bureau included his landline number.

The sparsely used—and Will was honestly surprised to find out it still works what with his pack playing with it so much—electronic device was put into good use by none other than Jack Crawford.

Will wasted no time telling him to shove it, tired with all the haranguing Jack threw his way whenever the special agent saw Will. _No_ , he won’t talk to Abigail unless she’s fine with it. _Yes_ I’m still doing my job.

Alana’s attempts at ambushing him after classes told him that she’s all for Jack’s plan of making Will talk to Abigail. Will was almost disappointed because _he thought better of her_. Abigail doesn’t need to see her father’s murderer, much less talk to him.

Will had no intention to visit Abigail unless she specifically asked for him. After all, what reason could she have? Maybe scream and let him know about all the anguish he had given her.

Nonetheless, Will couldn’t think of any valid reason that would explain his current position.

Again, he’s with Hannibal.

 _Doesn’t that happen too often_ , Will thinks as he follows behind the doctor. The fragments that Hannibal left in him shifting and whispering inaudible words. Will forced himself to ignore it.

They’re in a different hospital now and Will isn’t sure if Abigail should even be in a psychiatric hospital. He imagines it must be so lonely, not one person able to understand you outside of polite interest and career dictated necessity. Will, in the grand total of five minutes that he’d been in the hospital, already felt the oppressive atmosphere behind the cheery walls.

Hannibal led them through the hallway with ease that spoke of familiarity. Will wondered just how many times Hannibal had visited Abigail. It seems uncharacteristic for the doctor from what Will knows.

 _Then again_ , Will casts a sidelong glance to Hannibal as they stopped in front of a door. _I barely know anything about him, if at all._

“I feel that I should inform you—” Hannibal’s voice startles Will out of his thoughts. “—that Abigail has asked for your presence already aware of what you’ve done.”

“You make it sound like it’s my entire fault,” responded Will in a tired voice. “Given that it is, why am I here?”

Hannibal’s gaze feels oddly reprimanding and Will shifts uncomfortably. “She had posed the question about her brothers and I am in no way capable of answering her. I thought that your presence would be much more preferable to Jack’s.”

Will barks out a dry laugh, rubbing at the dark circles surrounding his eyes. “You’re the first one to ever say that. Although I doubt Jack would be much better in this situation.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal raised a hand in offering to which Will frowns at. “Shall we?”

When Will doesn’t move, Hannibal’s hand smoothly moves to the doorknob and Will had a sudden panicked thought of pulling Hannibal away from the door. His hand twitches but Will stayed put.

Will watched the door open, the motion so slow that Will almost felt ridiculous. That didn’t stop the furious beating of his heart.

Seeing Freddie Lounds turned Will’s anxiety into irritation. Even here, that vulture of a woman wants to sink her dirtied claws into something that isn’t her business.

“I—uh,” Lounds hurriedly brought out a card from her bag, her eyes glancing over to them before turning to Abigail once more, practically oozing false sympathy. “If you need anyone to know your side of the story, do not hesitate to call.”

The girl, because Abigail Hobbs is nothing but a lost little girl despite her age, accepted the card and Will was sure he wasn’t the only one who noticed her hesitance.

Lounds stood up from her chair and made to leave the room. However, Hannibal and Will blocked her means of exit. Will would have gladly let her leave but Hannibal seems to have a different idea.

“Miss Lounds,” Hannibal drawled out in greeting. “I was not informed that you were to meet with Abigail.”

Lounds shifted and Will just knows that whatever she’s going to say would be far away from the truth. “You weren’t?” said Lounds with false surprise. “I was sure I notified the hospital beforehand. They told me they would’ve informed you.”

Will remains silent as he watched the exchange. He had no doubt that whatever verbal spar they are engaging in Lounds would be left to lick her wounds after Hannibal is done with her. A glance beyond the infuriating tabloid reporter told Will that Abigail is curiously watching the exchange as well.

“Only visitors allowed by the patient’s assigned psychiatrist are permitted to enter a patient’s room without surveillance,” said Hannibal coolly. “The only exception would be the patient’s family. Are you either of those, Miss Lounds?”

“No,” Lounds had the gall to smirk at the psychiatrist. “But your presence here and lack of action against me is enough to be considered as permission, right?”

Hannibal remained composed although Will had the feeling that the other man is amused. “I am not Miss Hobbs’ assigned psychiatrist.”

Lounds’ face fell but she immediately covered it up with a smirk as if in challenge. “Is that so?”

“Quite so,” Hannibal finally stepped into the room and Will followed, leaving the door open for Lounds to pass through. “Now I suggest that you leave before I alert the staff of your errant behavior.”

Lounds glared at them in anger before sauntering out with nary a word. The sound of the door closing seemed so loud in the suddenly silent room.

Will doesn’t quite know what to do. He felt equally nervous and relieved when Abigail chose that moment to speak.

“Hello,” Abigail’s head is tilted to the side. “You must be Will Graham.”

Will watches as Hannibal makes himself comfortable on the chair Lounds had vacated. Not knowing what to answer, Will swallows and nods. “Yes.”

There was a moment of silence as Abigail glanced at Hannibal. The doctor tilts his head ever so slightly and Abigail offers a weak smile at Will. It was in that moment that Will _sees_ how unsure and burdened the girl is. Her eyes, while not bloodshot and swollen, still had telltale redness and while the bags under her eyes were noticeable, they weren’t sunken and dark.

“Doctor Lecter said that—” Abigail visibly draws in courage. “That my brothers are still missing. I—is there anything I could do to help you find them?”

Will grapples in his mind for what to say. Hypothetically, Will knew that informing her of everything would be much better than keeping secrets. Theoretically, some information must be kept secret because this is still a case of the FBI. Personally, Will wasn’t sure how the girl would take it coming from him.

He can tell the truth; that her brothers are presumed dead and that she can’t help them any more than the FBI’s ‘most skilled’ profiler can.

He doesn’t. Instead, Will offers what he hopes is a smile but is probably more of a grimace, “Your… brothers don’t have proper records in any of the states. We need all the information we can get.”

It was a lie that both Will and Hannibal knew of. The FBI is treating the case of Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs with a grain of salt. In fact, Will wouldn’t put it past the higher ups to doubt the presence of the boys. If it weren’t for the guest room filled with objects that belong to two boys who clearly aren’t Abigail or her parents, even Will wouldn’t have believed the documents in Hobbs’ safe.

It was just too… _clean_ and separated from the entire house.

Hannibal breaks the silence with a deep breath. “Perhaps a change of scenery would benefit all of us.”

Abigail nods in agreement and Hannibal rose from his seat. The psychiatrist was the first to reach the door, Will glances at Abigail who was wrapping a scarf around her throat before stopping Hannibal.

“What do I do?” Will hissed quietly, unease creeping into his being. “I can’t just tell her that the police aren’t even on the lookout for her brothers anymore.”

Hannibal sends him an unreadable look before responding, “Do not worry, dear Will. Abigail may provide us with yet a few more insights that will lead us to the correct path.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

And so, a few days later, Will found himself with Alana, Abigail, and Hannibal on their way to Minnesota. Hannibal’s idea involved them going back to the Hobbs’s residence with Abigail, and Will was an audience to the doctor’s speech maneuvers into guilt tripping Abigail to go back ‘home’.

Technically, it wasn’t to them that Abigail said that, but Will recognized it for what it is; manipulation. Carefully, Will filed it at the back of his mind where anything with the words ‘Hannibal Lecter’ is attached. The psychiatrist’s carefully machinated words had Abigail dancing to his will, announcing to Alana that she wanted to visit her childhood home.

Jack approved and so they are now allowed to mess with the evidence. Will wonders how much of a mess the FBI left the house in.

The sight that greeted them made Will draw back in indignation. It was one thing to insult you in the face, it was another to vandalize a home with slander. Will knew of shame and disrespect, quite a lot of it actually, but this may have been one of the worst he has seen.

Regardless of the disgrace and utter contempt their neighbors not so discretely expressed through a juvenile bout of vandalism, Abigail continued on as if it doesn’t bother her. Will finds that this has earned his respect.

“This is where my mom died?”

Alana looks at him but Will refuses to respond, so the older female took it in her hands, “Yes. Maybe a small goodbye would make you feel better?”

And because Alana is a better person than Will is, she sends an understanding smile to Abigail that the girl received with a grateful one.

With a whispered “goodbye, mom,” Abigail enters her home, leaving Will and Hannibal to follow behind them.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will thinks that it may be a weird sight to see three grown adults following a 19 year old girl around her own house. There’s no one to watch them anyway so it doesn’t matter. However, it doesn’t help with Will’s uncertainty.

“This is their room,” said Abigail as they enter the plain looking room that Will knows belonged to the Hobbs twins. The room was as Will last saw it, at least on the outside. He was sure some of the items in there were missing, taken for evidence.

Abigail visibly drew herself in and Will, watching her closely, was able to take the hint. “We’ll be in the living room if you need us.”

The suppressed smile Abigail sent him had Will thinking that she may have forgiven him. Of course, he might be deluding himself—quite clearly so—and so Will led Alana and Hannibal into the living room where they set to organize the scattered boxes on the table as they waited for Abigail.

As minutes passed, Will found himself asking, “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“Is what a good idea?” Alana replies in an almost teasing tone. “Bringing Abigail back here?”

Will shrugged. “You two are the specialists. I’m only your ‘escort’.”

“Giving her time to reconnect might help improve her recovery,” answered Hannibal as he curiously patted the throw pillows on the sofa. “As well as help you in your search for her brothers.”

Will snorted and was tempted to call Hannibal on his bullshit but Alana beat him to it as she came through the door from the kitchen.

“Abigail wanted to sell this house,” Alana reasoned. “I think she only wants to leave all of this behind.”

“ _I_ think she doesn’t want anyone else to ruin her life.”

The three of them turned to look at the one who spoke, Will sighing as he saw Abigail standing there, arms crossed, with an almost bored expression on her face. And if Will saw a flicker of indignation on Alana’s face before it was consumed by an apologetic one, he kept his chuckle to himself. Alana, despite her kindness and seemingly immortal patience, takes pride in her profession, and so it wasn’t uncharted that she would react that way.

Abigail strolls in and promptly sat down on the carpeted floor in front of the table. She placed something in front of her and Will wondered why she’s holding on to a leather journal. Her hands traced random patterns around the black leather, touching it in an almost reverent way.

Will watches curiously from his spot near the doorway as she bit her lip in indecision before hesitantly holding the bound leather in her hands, stretching her arms towards him. Taking it as a sign for him to take it, Will pushes himself from his place and receives the offered object.

As soon as the object landed on his hand, a shiver ran down his spine. Frowning, Will looked at Abigail to find that the girl is watching him curiously.

“That’s Tom’s diary,” said Abigail. “I’m surprised you didn’t manage to find it.”

Will ran a finger over the bounded leather. He wasn’t a good judge of the quality of items like this, being raised by a single father who can’t afford anything other than their necessities, but based on Hannibal’s reaction—a barely microscopic twitch—Will knew that this must be an expensive thing.

“Genuine leather,” Hannibal commented idly. “Although I do not recognize the hide. A rare type of snake perhaps.”

Abigail shrugged uncomfortably, “Tom and Harry had that for as long as I can remember. Even has their names engraved on it.”

Will turns over the journal curiously, seeing the small gold plate at the bottom with the letters ‘ _T.M.R H.J.P’_ engraved on it.

“ _’T.M.R._?” asked Will. “Are these their initials?”

Abigail nodded, reaching out behind her to grab a pillow and hug it close. “I don’t know what ‘R’ or ‘P’ stands for. Harry never answered me.” Suddenly, Abigail sends Will a serious look. “You must understand that Harry and Tom never let anyone, not even me or Dad, open that journal. Holding it is the closest we can get. “

Will nodded and with great hesitance—he’s about to encroach a private boundary—flipped the journal open to a random page.

A tingle ran through his fingers but was soon gone.

He didn’t know what he was expecting when he opened the journal but a simple cursive ‘ _hello_ ’ was not it. The letters curled into each other making Will think that whoever wrote it must either be meticulous—a certain doctor enters his mind—or is practicing calligraphy— _again_ , a certain doctor comes to mind. Usually, every curve of hand written words was enough for Will to create a profile, albeit a very loose one, and yet the script is as generic as it can get.

It was also mightily suspicious that a journal in the possession of a boy for years, if Abigail was to be believed, would only contain a single word. Flipping through the pages rapidly, Will’s frown became more prominent.

“You said that they had this even _before_ you met them.”

Abigail nodded, “It’s either Tom is holding it, Harry is holding it, or it’s not anywhere at all.”

Turning another page absently, Will started and the journal almost slipped from his hold as the sudden burn of a paper cut prickled at the pad of his finger. Immediately, he pulled his finger to his mouth, not noticing the small stain of his blood sank into the thick paper of the journal.

“Will?”

Startled, Will swivels around to see Hannibal behind him. Will settles his eyes on the doctor’s tie and quickly wipes his finger on his pants.

Will shrugged. “Just a paper cut.”

“Nevertheless,” Hannibal pulled out a band aid from the pocket of his trousers— _those trousers have pockets?_ —and handed it to a questioning Will. “The smallest of injuries have the capability to become worse if it isn’t taken care of properly. I have seen many men die of a small cut.”

Will resisted the urge to let out a snort, licking his lips instead so as not to laugh when Hannibal’s mouth twitched. Taking the offered ‘medical aid’— _for a damned paper cut_ —Will sent an equally ridiculous amount of gratefulness to the doctor.

He pockets it. “For safe keeping,” He added at the raised eyebrow he received then turned his attention back to the journal. “It’s odd that only one word is written here.”

Hannibal tilts his head in palpable curiosity. “May I?”

Will stares at the outstretched hand capable of many beautiful and terrible things— _he was a surgeon, of course he could save a life as much as he can end it._ A great hesitance settled over Will and he found himself opening his mouth before he could think about what he would say.

“No.” Will blinks but continues on. “The less people to touch this—the better. I’ll be sending this to the lab to be checked.”

Will knew he was lying— _again_ —but they didn’t need to know that. If he can’t trust Hannibal to hold the journal, then he’ll be damned to let it out of his sight. Abigail entrusted it to him after all and he wasn’t about to break that trust.

Abigail smiled at him, unseen by the other two in the room.

 _Well, that settled it_.

Jack or the rest of the team never heard of the existence of the journal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So about that handwriting thing… I am inclined to believe that it’s possible ‘cause I remember reading a case about a guy (I can’t remember his name or his crimes) who sent/left a letter to the police and the profiler (apparently a pretty famous one if I remember correctly) wrote in his report that the way the guy wrote the letter “W” resembled that of a woman’s breasts. And so his profile contained the “single” status because the way he wrote the “w” suggests that he has a longing for a partner.
> 
> I cannot say if what I just told you is accurate since it’s been around 2 years since I last read about that. If you’re interested on what the fuck I was reading (yes, it was found in our school’s library) just look up the book of Criminal Profiling made by Reader’s Digest. Pretty interesting read.
> 
> Anyway, I would guess that Will may be able to create a profile with the handwriting of people as long as he has an estimated guess on “who” it is he’s profiling. He’s very observant after all, his attention to detail the most important part in his empathy. In this case, he has not much to go on about Harry or Tom, hence why he can’t see anything.
> 
> Leave comments *grins*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we still don't see Harry and Tom but we do get to see Murder Family!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! I got a lot of positive feedback and I want to thank y'all! I'm sorry if this chapter would still lack any Harry/Tom direct POV but hmm... well there is something... anyway, a late Happy Christmas (or whatever it is you call it) and a Merry New Year!

Clenching his fists tightly in the biting cold, Will let out a puff of breath. Nights were becoming longer while the days become shorter. Soon enough, the lethargy of winter would settle into his bones and the chill of the nights would creep into his dreams. Maybe he should move his bed in the living room? The fireplace _was_ there, and his pack would happily sprawl around him to share their much needed warmth.

His hand subconsciously felt through the thick fabric of his clothing where the journal rested, held in its place by his arm.

Through the corner of his eyes, Will saw Hannibal arching an eyebrow at his direction. Will dismissed him, averting his eyes and settling on the two girls from afar.

It hadn’t been long—and Will was certainly a bit surprised even when he read almost all the reports—since Marissa Schurr appeared in the Hobbs’ sitting room. The girl just crept into the room without so much as a knock, a sheepish and smug smile curling at her lips. Will was almost sure that he saw a twinge of annoyance flitter through Hannibal’s calm façade.

It had been Alana’s decision to let Abigail and Ms. Schurr roam free to talk to each other, given that they don’t leave the grounds. The teenaged _mall of America_ replica of Hobbs’ victims happily dragged Abigail outside with veiled side comments directed at Will. Apparently the rude little girl was a staunch follower of _Tattle Crime_.

“Mr. Hobbs had a very peculiar taste.”

Will cast a glance around to make sure there’s no immediate danger for the two girls before responding. “Yes.”

From the distance, Will saw a branch move not too far away from Abigail and tensed up. When a small animal continued on its way from where the branch moved, he forced his body to calm but an irrational paranoia scratched at the edges of his thoughts. At the back of his mind, Will knew the cause of his unease.

_Hannibal Lecter._

The strange red-brown eyes that watched him reminded Will so much of blood spilt unto soil, an essence of life carelessly dripped all over the earth until another life is born. A life made of blood, sweat, and tears. Of guilt, sorrow, and anger. A bloodied sprout that flourished into a tall, strong, and imposing tree with which its branches grew long and sharp, unremorseful of the countless lives lost to its arrestive yet masked danger.

The insistent beating of his heart quickened and almost deafened Will.

“I believe you are similar in that way.” Will wondered when he lost control of his own mouth, when he started provoking the lion with a tilt of his head. “Am I right, Doctor Lecter?”

A beat, then—

“I’m afraid to say that I don’t know what you mean.”

But Will saw the lion, the _predator_ , prowling in those spilt-blood eyes. Saw the way its maw stretched into a threatening grin, baring its sharp, crooked teeth impressively.

_(“How do you see me?”_

_“The mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by_.”)

But most of all, Will saw the alarm hidden deep beneath the threats and utter stillness.

 _Two can play this game_.

Perhaps, there would have been a time that Will would be blind to the open machinations, would become the mongoose in one of his father’s stories. *****

_(“If there is something you really must know in this world, boy, it’s that not everyone can see the way you see them.”)_

It was a stroke of luck on his part, maybe, that Will was able to see the grabby veil Hannibal Lecter threw over the eyes of those he interacts with.

“Don’t—” Will licked his suddenly dry lips, the air around them feeling much colder than it should be. He swallowed around his fear with a side-long glance at the two girls at a distance. “Don’t lie to me. Lies of omission are much easier to forgive than lies of deception. Which will it be, Doctor Lecter?”

With bated breath, Will found his attention focused on the depthless gaze of the man before him. This is a gamble Will isn’t ready to play and yet if Hannibal ever has an intention to harm him, or Alana, or Abigail, Will won’t hesitate pulling out his gun. Pulling the trigger—now _that_ is a different story. He didn’t want to have any more blood on his hands.

_If push comes to shove, however…_

The air hung heavy as the two stared at each other, one willing the other to understand, and one assessing the other with cold calculation.

As seconds ticked by, Will’s hand slowly inched its way to his gun. He barely noticed that his hand is trembling.

Will felt a chill run through his back as Hannibal’s eyes suddenly tracked his hand’s movement. Freezing in action, Will felt embarrassed and frightened yet he did his best to shore up his feelings, trying to maintain an impassive look. His hand stayed unmoving.

Then Hannibal looked away and Will barely stopped himself from sagging in relief from getting the burning gaze away from him.

“Then I would rather have the option of being forgiven.”

Will thought he saw a flicker of a smile on Hannibal’s lips but then it was gone.

“ _Hey! Piss off!”_

Startled, Will pulls his gaze away from the stoic expression in Hannibal’s face beside him just in time to see Marissa Schurr throwing something at an unknown man. The tension that took its time crawling away from him came back with a vengeance. Without thought, Will briskly walked to the direction of the girls, mindful of the journal still in his possession.

Even in the distance, Will could see the look of distress on Abigail’s face as the unknown man kept on talking. His hand twitched and then Marissa Schurr again threw something at the unknown man. Will saw the way it hit the man and Will had a few moments of satisfaction as the man spat on the ground and backed away as he saw them.

“He said he was somebody’s brother.” Abigail dutifully informed them.

Will was about to say something when someone cut him off.

“Marissa!”

Will doesn’t turn; instead, he focused on Abigail, checking to see if she was hurt. There was a small, reassuring smile sent to him when she noticed and Will felt some sort of relief in that even as he felt a heavy gaze settle on him.

“Marissa, come home this instant!” Mrs. Schurr—because Will is absolutely sure that this is her mother—exploded, voice as angry and sharp as her daughter’s glare.

“No!”

Will felt the tension tightening around them as Marissa Schurr’s face contorted into an expression of angry displeasure. Did he act like this when he was a teenager?

“ _Come. Home._ ”

“Can you _stop_ being such a bitch?”

Will blinked, both at the utter disrespect and anger at the words. A tense moment of silence settled over the group.

Marissa Schurr broke it with a careless “ _see you later_ ” at Abigail’s direction before stomping her way out. Mrs. Schurr followed, steps just as angry.

Hearing the two angry footsteps fade, Will glanced at the woods, debating whether it would be worth the effort to frolic about when he knew the man was long gone. The distraught frown and wide eyes of Abigail made the decision for him.

“Are you alright?” Will chose to stay where he is as he watched Hannibal make his way near the trees.

Abigail nods but doesn’t say anything, her lips moving as if she is holding back tears. Will doesn’t know what to do, so on impulse—and reminiscent of the way he remembered his father used to do when he was upset—Will awkwardly placed a hand on her shoulder. He knew it was a mistake to do so because physical contact would never, ever be Will’s forte.

As he feared, Abigail starts trembling and Will pulls away. What he doesn’t expect is to have his arms full of a trembling teenager. Almost on instinct, Will’s arms pull her into a hug that further sent Will into panic. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. So he remained still, eyes wide in panic as he felt her sobs.

He saw Hannibal watching with an unreadable expression. Will hoped that Hannibal would do _something_ because Will certainly was _not_ the person you would go to for a hug, or any type of comfort, for that matter.

_You’re the psychiatrist! You should be the one doing this!_

At least, Will hoped the psychiatrist would be able to read his silent message. To his dismay, Hannibal merely frowned looking distracted, and Will had no choice but to simply be anything but stiff as board. He started the stilted motions of running his hand through her hair.

Finally, to Will’s audible sigh of relief, Abigail pulled away, discretely wiping her eyes. Will reached down to his pockets with the intention of lending his handkerchief but was beaten to it when Hannibal nudged his hand with the doctor’s own. Sending a questioning glance, Hannibal simply gestured to Abigail and Will sighed.

Eyebrow raising at the soft texture of the cloth—it was starting to dawn on Will just how extravagant the doctor’s lifestyle is—he made to offer it to Abigail. But something in Will wanted to be involved in comforting her and instead gently pried her hands away, using the lent cloth to tenderly wipe away the wetness on Abigail’s face.

 Will didn’t know where this _tenderness_ came from. It was an almost painful tugging deep, _deep_ below his consciousness. A fathomless… _longing_.

“Perhaps we should retire for the day.”

Carefully folding the lightly damp cloth, Will struggles with himself on what he should do now. Hannibal’s face is now a blank slate and he found that Abigail’s hand is clutching the hem of his sleeve, head bowed down in something akin to guilt.

Will cleared his throat. “Yeah. We probably should. We’ll just go to the cabin tomorrow.”

Lightly tugging his sleeve in the hope that Abigail would let go, Will resigned himself to leading the girl back to the car when she merely took half a step closer.

Starting their trek back, Will could have sworn he had closed all the curtains in the house, but found that the one in the kitchen was parted. Shrugging, Will continued on. Maybe Alana opened it when she heard the shouting.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

That night, Will dreamed of stifling darkness and sharp, angry hisses. A vague form rising from a large, bubbling darkness and the feeling of dread and fear mingling with satisfaction and obsession. The abstract feeling of _his mind_ being _invaded and twisted around until the madness spilled into him_ —

Will woke to the sound of a high-pitched, ugly laugh that soon turned into the irritating beeping of the alarm.

Sweat-soaked and panting, Will made a dash to the bathroom. Turning on the tap, Will washed his face with the cool water, all the while feeling an utter… _wrongness_ about him. As if something is missing and that he must get it back.

Letting the water run, Will stared at his face in the mirror.

He had deep bags under his eyes, and he generally looked exhausted. His hair is in disarray and his beard only short enough to not look like a homeless person.

With a deep sigh, Will drew away, rubbing his face with his hands as had become his habit. A pulsing ache in his head made itself known and Will released another aggravated sigh and went to retrieve the ever present bottle of medicine from the pocket of his clothes the day before.

The dream was soon brushed off from his mind.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

 _This is a bad idea_.

Will opened the door on the passenger side, sighing as he followed after Abigail. He watched Abigail closely as the police officer who accompanied them went to open wooden door of the cabin. Perhaps they shouldn’t have gone through with this. Maybe he should have stopped Hannibal when he had ‘suggested’ this ambiguous idea.

_Maybe, maybe…_

He stumbled, barely managing to avoid bumping into Abigail as she stopped a few steps away from the opened door of the cabin. Alana and Hannibal passed over them, sending curious glances but nonetheless entered the cabin to what Will interpreted as giving them an illusion of privacy.

“Abigail?” asked Will uncertainly as the girl continued to stand still. Suddenly, Abigail turned to him, a deep frown that reminded Will of what she wore yesterday.

Abigail opened her mouth. “I—” Her lips pursed and she seemed to swallow. “You don’t think my brothers are alive anymore, do you?”

Startled, Will struggled to find an answer.

“I know.” Abigail continued, crossing her arms in a defensive manner, eyes looking anywhere but at him. “You wouldn’t have allowed me to go back home if you’re still looking for them.”

“ _I_ am.” Will surprises himself with his outburst but continued when he saw the small flash of hope in Abigail’s face. “I’m still doing what I can to find them, don’t doubt that.” _Because it’s my fault they are missing in the first place._ “They’re alive, Abigail, but I will need your help.”

Seeming at a loss, Abigail deflated, part of the mask she seemed to wear like a second skin breaking, and Will saw a glimpse of the scared little girl who lost her family.

“I… g-guess.” Her voice trembled. “ _Tom_ would never allow anything to happen to Harry.”

It was an innocent comment meant to be something reassuring to her, but Will heard a silent inflection in the way she said it.

 _Tom_.

There was anger there, jealousy maybe— _something_. The way she said the name was odd, out of place, as if she was not used to uttering it. But there was something familiar to it, something Will might have… tasted before. An emotion that Will is so used to hearing—

_No. Why would Abigail be fearful of her brother?_

“Abigail? Will?”

Abigail startled, abruptly turning around and Will was able to see Alana’s concerned form exiting the cabin. Will saw the shutters fall and Abigail is once again the 19 year old that they all expected her to be. If he wasn’t able to peek through and therefore able to see the change, Will wouldn’t have been able to see through it.

“Is there a problem?” A frown creased Alana’s forehead.

In his silence, Abigail answered for them, “We were just about to come in.”

Alana seemed to have accepted the answer but stood waiting at the doorway. With a shared glance, Abigail and Will started to walk towards the cabin.

Just as they were about to enter the threshold, an urgent, slightly hysterical voice called out.

“ _I need an ERT!_ ”

His dormant reflexes from the academy kicked in and Will hastily made his way up the wooden stairs, barely managing to stop himself from roughly pushing his way past Hannibal. Catching sight of the impaled body that the officer from before was pointedly standing—and staring, looking slightly green it seems—away from, Will didn’t bother looking to the direction of the doctor before addressing him.

“Doctor Lecter,” Will glanced down at the curious gaze of Abigail, thankful that both he and Hannibal have effectively blocked her path. “Please stop Abigail from coming here.”

With practiced calm borne from experience, Will strode a few quick steps to the body using a handkerchief to lift her head up.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

A sharp annoyance sparked in Will as he straightened from his position, gently releasing the late Marissa Schurr’s head and turned to the obviously _new_ police officer. Choosing to ignore the way the officer seems to puff up—looking slightly ridiculous paired with the pale and clammy look about his face—Will instead focused on the heart of the matter, and because he was feeling his annoyance grow at the man.

“Have you contacted the local department?”

The officer flushed. “O-of course I have!” Then he seems to have gained confidence in himself as he spoke. “Now, civilians aren’t allowed in a crime scene, I could charge you with obstruction of justice.”

He sounded so condescending and smug that Will was tempted to flash his own badge, temporary as it may be, just to see the rookie pale more than the blanch he would adopt every time he catches sight of the body.

 _Honestly_.

Nonplussed, Will turned away. If the officer wanted to be left with a body he so obviously is afraid of and nauseated by, who was Will to interfere?

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“I really wish you repair your phone.” Was the greeting Will received from Jack as he approached the man. “Better yet, buy a new one. We had to do a follow up call to find out where the ERT needed to go to.”

Will replied, “You came here just fine.” He didn’t want the hassle of buying another phone just because Jack said so. Besides, his phone was good, Will just neglected to turn it on and bring with him.

Will didn’t need to look Jack’s way to know the man was giving him an unimpressed stare.

“The victim is Marissa Schurr,” Will chose to say. “19 years old. Pale, wind-chaffed skin, dark brown hair—”

“I don’t care what she looks like.”

“—blue eyes. Generally looking _very mall of America._ ”

Silence descended over them and even Jack’s explosive temper didn’t make an appearance at Will’s retort. They stopped by Hannibal, Alana and Abigail, and Jack seemed to draw himself in.

“Doctor Bloom, a word.”

Will wasn’t surprised and gave an encouraging nod to Alana at her uncertain look at Abigail. The looks that Jack was sending Abigail, however, made Will frown. As Alana and Jack walked away, Will felt a sudden panic at what those looks could mean.

Jack knew.

 _Jack_ _knew_.

Or at least suspected it.

If Jack is _certain_ and _sure_ , Will knew there would almost be nothing he could do. Nothing legally, at least. But that was looking too far into the future because for all the short amount of time he knew Jack Crawford, Will can say that the man, despite being intelligent, is impulsive. The moment an evidence crops up that Abigail Hobbs was involved, Jack would be the first to proverbially say ‘I told you so’.

“—ill? Will? _William_.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Will rubbed his hand on his face. Blinking, he saw the—dare he say it?—worried face of Hannibal and Abigail; Abigail much more easily showing it than Hannibal, who had his large hand on Will’s shoulder as the only indication that he is worried.

“It’s only Will, Doctor Lecter.”

“If only you were to call me Hannibal.”

Will paused, eyes shifting to Abigail who suddenly had a small smile on her face, and then Will felt anxiety clawing at him.

Seeing Jack and Alana approach them, seemingly finished discussing, Will turned to Abigail.

“Stay with…” A short glance and Will decided. “Stay with Hannibal, all right Abigail?”

Her accepting nod eased a bit of the knot that formed in Will.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“You brought Abigail Hobbs to Minnesota to find out if she was involved in her father’s murders and another girl dies.”

Will covered up his nerves with a cutting retort. “No, Jack. I brought Abigail Hobbs to Minnesota in the hopes of finding anything that could help me in finding Thomas and Hadrian Hobbs.”

They were in the cabin now and Will shamelessly used Marissa Schurr’s body to distance himself from the rising temper of Jack Crawford.

“I thought I told you to stop looking for them?” Jack’s voice was becoming forceful.

“ _No_ ,” Will emphasized the word. “You told me of the possibility that I may be ‘chasing a ghost’. You never told me to stop.”

Aggravated and angry, Jack stepped close to Will; far closer than what made Will comfortable and he shifted away. But Will held still, using his flashlight to part pale lips.

“There’s foreign tissue and what could be trace amounts of blood,” Will hoped his blasé response to Jack’s peacocking would make the man back off. “Scraped himself on her teeth.”

Jack, to Will’s immense displeasure and anxiety, didn’t back off, although he changed the subject.

No less accusing, Jack almost growled, “You said that this copycat was an intelligent psychopath, Will—that there would be no traceable motive, no pattern. He wouldn’t kill this way again. You said it.”

Accepting the subject change as it is, no matter how much it pressed tightly at Will’s erratically beating heart, Will answered, “I may have been wrong about that.”

“Yes, because Garret Jacob Hobbs never struck his victims. Why would he do it?”

And then an idea struck Will. If Will weren’t desperate, and certainly a little bit less irrational, he would have balked at the mere idea. Lately, though, Will has found himself lying a lot more than he usually does.

_What’s another lie to save someone else’s life? Isn’t that what he does?_

“Cassie Boyle has a brother,” Will started, arranging his body language to what he does whenever something dawns on him. “Nicholas Boyle. He confronted Abigail yesterday, said he asked if she enjoyed the attention of a psychopath…”

“Did she?”

Will frowned. “That isn’t something that could be easily answered, Jack, you know that. You and I know that.”

“Doctor Bloom said Abigail had a penchant for manipulation.” Jack hovers nearer and Will flinched away, dark, beady eyes boring into him accusingly. “Is she manipulating you, Will?”

There was no proper answer to that and Will is angry that Jack had the gall to force him into a corner. If he said no, Jack would still say that he _is_ being manipulated. Answering yes would definitely imply that Abigail is manipulating Will. Either way Jack would have an answer he pretty much wanted.

Always so suspicious. Always so righteous.

 _Jack is a selfish man_.

“Are you confusing personal matters with professional matters?” Will bit out, fear turning into anger that teemed under his skin. “I thought you _were_ better than that, Jack.”

Rearing back as if struck, Jack finally backs away. However, underneath the stunned gaze of the FBI agent sat an uncontrollable rage.

 _I thought you learned your lesson, Jack_.

“Get out.”

Will stood still and this seemed to anger Jack more.

“I said _get. Out._ ” Jack’s voice is unwavering but nonetheless held an undercurrent of a threat. “I want you to collect Ms. Hobbs and her belongings and escort her out of Minnesota.”

“And leave her where?” Will argued because Jack _just won’t stop rubbing him the wrong way_. “You can’t keep her in that hospital. You can’t lock her up all because of that gut feeling of yours.”

“And _you_ don’t?” Jack taunted back, all forms of professionalism gone in the darkness of the room. “ _Watch me_ , because the moment _anything_ pops into my radar, Abigail Hobbs would be in police custody.”

Jaw clenched and body tensed, Will retorted curtly, “Abigail Hobbs is not a killer.” Will was merely informing he was glad that he sounded clinical about it. “But she could be a target of one. This isn’t the work of the copycat killer; he was careless enough to scrape himself on her teeth. You should try looking into the alibi of Nicholas Boyle—psychopaths tend to exact revenge by mocking their target.”

With that said, Will left.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Abigail liked to think that she’s a strong girl.

When she scraped her knee in the forest when she was four, she didn’t cry because _strong girls don’t cry, daddy, and I want to be strong, just like you_. She didn’t fall for the taunts her classmates threw her way when her daddy still saw her off in school. She didn’t throw a tantrum when her daddy brought back Harry and _Marvolo_ because Harry is such a precious little brother even if _Marvolo_ was not.

She never lost herself even if she knew what her father does to those girls.

But now her mom and dad are gone, and her precious Harry is missing. Her beloved family, the one she cherished even though they weren’t perfect, is broken. Abigail would be lying if she said she doesn’t feel resentful of Will Graham, she does, but…

“ _Are you alright?_ ”

She wasn’t. She’s _scared_ and almost _hopeless_ because _they’re gone and they left her behind, you promised you won’t leave me daddy—_

And then she’s angry because _these people_ won’t just leave her alone. Doctor Bloom, Doctor Lecter, and Mr. Graham were exceptions, of course, because Abigail knew that they _are_ helping her. It’s the nosy reporters that had the _gall_ to step foot near their house. Why were they even allowed there?

“ _You killed my daughter!_ ”

Abigail wanted to answer, but her words were stuck at her throat at the distraught and accusing eyes of Mrs. Schurr.

 _No, I didn’t. I didn’t kill anybody_.

“Why come back here? Why did you come back here? Why come back?”

_Why are you alive?_

Abigail tried not to let the guilt overwhelm her just like she did all those other times with her father, but it was insistent, weighing her body down, her limbs locked in place as the noises washed over her. She vaguely noted that she was being pulled away and she followed. It was better than staying rooted in place but her movements felt so far away.

“Abigail!”

She starts, as does the one pulling her.

“Freddie Lounds.” It was Mr. Graham who was pulling her and was now blocking her view of Ms. Lounds. “You’re not allowed here.”

“I’ve been covering the Minnesota Shrike long before you got involved.” Abigail wasn’t sure who Ms. Lounds is talking to but she didn’t like the way she said it. “I wanna help you tell your story. You need me now more than ever.”

Mr. Graham kept on blocking her view even as Ms. Lounds was escorted away by an officer. She stayed where she is, not knowing what to feel as Mr. Graham protected her. Ms. Lounds is not one of the people Abigail wanted to see right now and she is grateful that Mr. Graham didn’t let the woman near her.

“Will,” Doctor Bloom called out. “Why don’t you go inside with Abigail? Hannibal and I will handle this.”

She saw Mr. Graham nod and then she was being guided back into her home.

“Dad—” Abigail started to fill in the silence and to drown out the noise from outside. “He made everything by himself. Glue, butter… he sold the pelts on eBay or in town. Nothing was wasted, otherwise it was murder.”

Abigail looked up from staring at her hands, dread and horror filling up her mind.

_Nothing was wasted—_

“He—he was feeding them to us—I—”

The world fell away as she realized what her father had done. She could feel her stomach turning, her throat bobbing as she tried not to retch. Her heartbeat rose and deafened her ears and she looked down on the pillow on her arms and she wanted to _know_ —

Cold, clammy hands wrapped around her wrist.

“Abigail...”

She struggled against the hold. Why can’t he see that she needed to _know?_

“Abigail.”

“I—I—” Her hand was forced to lower and Abigail was able to note that her hands were shaking. “He-dad— _none of them was going to go to waste,_ he said it. Please, I need to know—”

Abigail was barely able to notice the sigh Mr. Graham did before she felt the cold hands that were around her wrist and cheek— _when did that happen?_ —leave and took its odd warmth with it. The pillow she was gripping tight into her chest was gently pried away and then it was being cut open.

For an irrational moment, Abigail wanted to _stop_ Mr. Graham from destroying it because it was Harry who had sawn them but then her good sense reminded her that she _wanted_ to do it.

Mr. Graham laid still and Abigail wanted to scream at him to give it to her because she _needed to know_.

“I don’t think you would want to see this Abigail.”

What was he talking about? They already refused to let her see Marissa’s body, the only friend she had left that her father never managed to honor. She was all Abigail had until Mr. Graham was able to find her brothers. And yet they refused to let her _see_. Abigail may not like Marissa all that much, but she had been the one there to comfort her.

Abigail opened her mouth to argue but a loud crash interrupted her. All arguments she could come up with was silenced.

Mr. Graham put down the gut hook knife and pillow and gestured for Abigail to be silent. She obeyed, wide eyed as her heartbeat quickened. Moments of silence followed and the demanding sounds of the reporters outside loud enough to cover any sound of footfalls. Mr. Graham put a hand on her knee as he stood.

 _Stay here_.

Abigail nodded and Mr. Graham went to search out the source of the crash. Feeling exposed even in her own home, Abigail grabbed the knife Mr. Graham left.

“Please, I just want you to listen to me. I—I didn’t kill that girl—”

With a startled gasp, Abigail turned behind her, almost stumbling out of the sofa in her haste. Ragged breaths escape her as her mind went back to the things he said to her.

_You were the bait, right? You lure them back to daddy for dinner?_

Again and again, those words repeated in her mind and she couldn’t hear anything else because he was there and he kept on saying it _even when she wanted him to stop, why won’t he stop—stop it, daddy said it was for her own good that she did it because—_

She ran, but steel like hands gripped her tight and pushed her to the wall. She looked up and all she saw was burning, accusing eyes, and _oh god, he’s going to kill her just like how her daddy said people would do when they find out—_

His eyes widen in surprise and she choked on her breath as blood oozed from the wound and onto her hands. When he moved, Abigail didn’t even think twice, her mind numb as she yanked out the blade and plunged it back in, higher this time where a vague memory told her that it is closer to the lungs.

She stayed rooted in place, heart beating loudly and breath coming in short, loud gasps. Her hands shake violently as she let go, dazedly noting that her hands and feet are cold and that she is sweating.

“ _Abigail!_ ”

Cold, clammy hands hold her head and she was forced to look at frantic blue-grey eyes swimming in panic. Abigail could almost smell the fear in the air but didn’t know whether it was coming from her or the person with the blue-grey eyes.

“He—” Her voice was small, shaky, but she can’t do anything about it. “He was gonna kill me.”

“Was he?” The voice was from a different person because the person with blue-grey eyes’ mouth didn’t move. “This isn’t self-defense, Abigail. You butchered him.”

She was slowly coming back to herself, the experience familiar and yet oh so slow. She recognized Mr. Graham’s cold, clammy hands and Dr. Lecter’s accented voice.

“I—” She swallows under the worried gaze of Mr. Graham. “I didn’t. He—he wanted to kill me, just like he did to Marissa.”

“Abigail…”

Abigail found herself pressed closed to a body and an odd warmth coiled around her that was clearly unique to Mr. Graham. He smelled of sweat and something Abigail associated with damp woods in the forest after a strong storm.

“Don’t worry,” This time, the hand running through her hair felt a lot more comforting than it did yesterday. “We’ll take care of it.”

::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will was nervous, worried, and all around unpleasant. He didn’t know what he was doing, just that he _had_ to protect Abigail. He kind of felt bad, dragging Doctor Lecter—Hannibal—into this but dealing with the devil was clearly his favorite pass time recently.

He hoped Hannibal was willing to assist and Will was more than agreeable with turning a blind eye to this. It wasn’t a shock, really, that Abigail stabbed Nicholas Boyle. Will shooting Garret Jacob Hobbs wasn’t too different with it.

Will looked up from Abigail to turn his attention to the doctor. The spilled-blood eyes had the same unreadable look it had when Hannibal arrived on the scene with him, but this time, Will saw the careful consideration in his eyes, cold calculation that Will recognized and categorized as something that an intelligent _psychopath_ might possess.

 _Accept it_.

Waiting had never been Will’s forte and they had no time. If Hannibal wasn’t willing to help, Will was more than capable of creating a story on the fly but never had the need to do so. See where his problem is?

To his immense relief—not that Will would say it out lout nor would he let it show—Hannibal gave a discreet nod.

Will must have been seeing things when he saw a smile curl at the edges of the doctor’s lips.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

In the end, Will had to be checked by the medics and procured a sling. His left shoulder had been dislocated with an “I’m sorry Will but it must be done” and the pain had been enough to make Will forget why they _had_ to do it. Lecter had set it back, of course, because “I know in which direction it was broken, and it would save you a lot of explaining, Will.”

 _Yes_ , Will was a bit spiteful of the doctor, but it was with exasperation that Will reminds himself that he was the one who asked for Doctor Lecter’s help and that he can’t say anything against it. He probably could have, but his brain wasn’t functioning properly then. Maybe even now because _what was he thinking, he can’t just help hide a body_.

_It wasn’t like you cared, did you?_

“No I don’t remember anything.”

Will looks at Alana and feels a sense of guilt. “Nicholas Boyle attacked you, lured me into the kitchen, struck Doctor Lecter, and went to attack Abigail.”

Jack was watching him closely but the tension between them lessened significantly with what could only be called their time out.

“Abigail Hobbs scratched Nicholas Boyle on his way out the back door. The blood on her hands matches the tissue that we pulled from Marissa Schurr’s mouth.”

If that wasn’t an indicator that Nicholas Boyle was _meant_ to be framed, Will didn’t know what is. It would seem that Doctor Lecter was prepared for a _lot_ of things.

_Who are you, Hannibal Lecter?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... comments? Suggestions? I neeeeeedddddd *sobs* Hanni and Will are hard to work with. Maybe I'll just sing with Moana... "See the line where the sky meets the sea it's blindiiiiiinnngggg one day I'll knooowww how far I'll gooooo" with this fic.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oeuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, is this an update? YES! I was supposed to upload/publish this...12 hours ago? But AO3 was on downtime and so I just slept. Can't say I regretted it. Anyways:  
> The timeline is fucked, alright? Not too much but eh.

**Canon divergence starts... now.**

* * *

 

Will pauses in his work as he heard his pack noisily shuffling. That, in its self, wouldn’t have bothered him; his pack was a rowdy bunch. Always getting into as much trouble as possible in the middle of nowhere where they live. It wasn’t an exaggeration. There _was_ a reason why Will never brings them with him, aside from their enormous number.

_Rambunctious but harmless._

It tells a lot about people if Will was asked. _It tells a lot about him as well._ Because no, Will was not in denial. Oddly enough, Will was entirely calm.

His brow furrowed when the sound of tire on gravel reached his ears. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He and Jack were still at odds and Alana made it a point not to visit him in his house. Hannibal was probably the only one who would have a reason—a rather strong _reason_ —but Will knew the purring sound of a Bentley and this wasn’t one.

He quickly tried to tie up the lure he was making, cursing when his haste caused him to unconsciously move his injured shoulder.

_Damned Hannibal and his well-reasoned excuses._

Will left his work with a sigh as his pack shuffled over to the door and were staring at him expectantly. One day, his pack was going to cause him to invite in one of the men he hunts.

 _They already have_.

Will steadfastly ignored the small voice that whispered.

Opening his door was an easy affair even with his pack crowded around it. As soon as the opening was large enough, Buster slipped out with an excited bark and Will could only sigh as the others quickly followed, the door’s hinges squeaking and the thudding of his pack’s bodies hitting the door to make room for them causing Will to twitch slightly.

“Quite an excited bunch, I’ll say.”

Will takes a moment to stare at the person who went all the way to Virginia for who knows what.

“Damn, Graham, how many of these did you steal? I don’t think anyone would be sane enough to own this much.”

“ _Katz?_ ”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Beverly Katz drawled with a raised eyebrow then whistled as she surveyed the curiously sniffing mass of wagging tails. “Never expected you to be a dog person.”

Will found himself biting out a reply. “I’m surprised you didn’t, seeing the amount of dog hair I wear all day.”

“I thought they were kind of part of your clothes you know.” Then she grinned. “Brian and Jimmy are _so_ going to have an aneurysm. Jimmy especially. That guy swears by cats.”

“Cats prefer being independent and don’t need much caring for. I’m not surprised.”

“Is that why you prefer dogs?”

Will refuses the urge to clench his teeth but his muscles tensed. “I thought you were working for forensics.”

“Sorry, sorry.” She actually looked apologetic so Will didn’t let it offend him. “I actually came here for… eh, on behalf of Jack? Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great boss, but he can be as stubborn as a mule. Quite badly so. But we aren’t exactly having progress on our current case.”

“And you came all the way here because you needed help?” Will was understandably suspicious.

“C’mon Graham. I know you and the bossman aren’t in the best relationship right now.” She raised a pack of beer she was hiding behind her, a smile that managed to be sheepish and teasing at the same time tugging at her lips. “Um. I’m buttering you up?”

Will purses his lips but a curious bark and cold, wet nose nudging him made him sigh. “I told you I prefer whiskey.”

Nonetheless, Will took the gift and made fast with putting on appropriate clothes, pointedly avoiding catching sight of his reflection.

Fuck it _._ Anything was better than staying holed up and isolated.

_See?_

Will grabbed the bottle of aspirin with force, keeping his gaze on the floor as he skittered off outside, carefully checking if his pack were all inside the house before locking it.

_You’re no better—_

Will closed the passenger side’s door with a lot more force than necessary. Thankfully, Katz did no more than send him a glare before starting the car.

Throughout the journey, Will was entirely aware of the condemning gaze of Nicholas Boyle.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The tension was palpable when Will entered. Jack was staring at him imploringly, his glare harsh and unforgiving. The room was a mess. _Everyone_ looked like they had a few rounds with a bull (what are you talking about? He wasn’t talking about Jack. Of course not.).

Katz seems to be the only one who coped up with it well, if you ignore her paler-than-normal skin and slouched posture.

“I thought I told you to _find the children,_ not go gallivanting off who knows where.”

Katz passed from behind him and Will was able to glimpse her raised eyebrow.

“I got us help.”

A staring contest seemed to have developed, Price and Zeller actually pausing in their conversation as tensions rose—and Will was alert enough to note the wariness in the two men; Jack must have ran them ragged these past few days. In the end it was Jack who lost, the head of the BAU growling under his breath.

He bit out a “Get back to work!” kneading his head in frustration (or was it anger? Nonetheless, Jack wasn’t suited for stress). Price and Zeller went back to what they were doing as if they weren’t ever distracted and Katz sauntered over to them, celebrating a victory Will was certain was impressive.

Will saw the smirk on Katz’s face before Jack turned his attention to him.

“Graham. With me.”

Will followed with a frown creasing his forehead, nerves drawn tight with every step he took.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“Two murders and you didn’t at least think to ask me for help?” Will spoke through the bubbling urge of vomiting the longer he was in Jack’s presence. Oddly enough, Boyle wasn’t anywhere and it somehow made Will feel worse, used as he was to his presence.

“Yes, Will, because you have a phone I could contact you in.”

Will decides to ignore the not-answer. He knew he would reach nothing by following that path of conversation. Instead, Will turns his attention back to the file reports Jack unceremoniously dropped on him, reigning in the headache he felt coming. The nausea and unease were harder to ignore.

Two families—the Turners and the Frists—both of an affluent background with three kids. Crime scene showed no signs of struggle, both mothers shot last. He reads, gathers as much information as he can.

 “’Lost boys’?”

Jack nods hesitatingly and Will knew it wasn’t the man who chose the name. “Jesse Turner disappeared last year. Possible runaway, probable abduction. Connor Frist’s body was found burned on the fireplace in their own home.”

“Sacrificing what you had to gain something that you want.” Will mutters distractedly, attention still focused on the reports. “Could I take a look at the scene?”

Silently, Jack pulled out a file from the pile in front of Will. Eyebrow raising a fraction, Will took the offered folder and almost let a frown form but was able to transform it into pursed lips.

“FBI had it closed down. I’m not high up enough to give you permission to enter.”  Jack gave Will a long stare, seeing the tightness in Will’s expression. Will hoped the other man would see it for what it was; Will’s displeasure. “I want you to look at these instead and tell me what you see.”

“Jack,” came Will’s long-suffering sigh. Jack was playing at something and he didn’t like it. “I need more than pictures to _work my magic_.” The last part was enunciated to show how vexed Will feels.

Jack’s eyes burned holes on the side of Will’s head.  “Then what are those autopsy reports for? We can’t just wait for another family to die just because you _needed more than pictures to work your magic._ ”

Rendered silent by the thickening tension that resulted from Jack’s booming voice and his already frayed nerves, Will grits his teeth, feeling slightly off kilter with all the anger and anxiety and— _for fuck’s sake why can’t he just get rid of those—_

“Alright—” Will breathes through his mouth, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “Alright. _Shi_ —alright. I’ll look through it, Jack. Just give me—a few moments.”

Will doesn’t look at Jack but he could feel the man’s heavy scrutiny.

“I’ll be back.” Jack says and Will barely held in a sigh.

The tap-tap-tapping of Jack’s shoes were the only things that could be heard from the otherwise silent room but Will couldn’t hear beyond his own pulse.

“And Will—” Will jolts at his name, almost dropping the papers he was unseeingly staring at. He looks expectantly at Jack, feeling a quiver of fear as the other man stared at him with a keen expression. “I won’t disregard your words.”

And Will knew that it was a bitter victory for him.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will, technically, wasn’t fit for field work yet. His left arm was still in a sling, after all.

 _No rigorous activities for two weeks, doctor’s orders_.

That was fine. Teaching at the academy wasn’t counted as a rigorous activity. Although driving apparently is, so Will still had to have Alana take over during his absence; thus why Agent Katz found him with his lures— _and the whispers and the gazes and the odd feeling of abando—_

And so here he is, staring at another crime scene a few days short of the allotted two weeks.

“You got your wish, Will.” Jack’s voice, thick and heavy with irritation— _anger, disgust, contempt—_ carries over the ruckus both the local police and the FBI were making. “Now I want you to do your _thing_ and tell me what you see.”

 _Corpses_ , Will wanted to respond but purses his lips and takes a deep breath. He ignores the curious— _worried?_ —look sent to him by Agent Katz and shuts his eyes, leveling his breathing with the steady— _hammering_ —beat of his heart and watches the pendulum swing.

Well used to his particular method of profiling, Will expects the sensation of _slipping_ into a different skin, of leaving his own behind in favor of a half-constructed mask that sometimes chips away at what was left of him.

He doesn’t expect the feeling of falling and not being in his own body anymore. There was a strong sense of disconnection and his surroundings drop into darkness before reconstructing itself.

He doesn’t think, he just moves, and his blood feels as if it was on fire.

He screams, maybe, but he can’t know for sure because _the pain consumes him and he opens his mouth to beg—to please stop—_

“ _Why are you here?”_

The pain lessened but it didn’t give any relief before it was back.

 _“Leave—you must leave now before he_ —”

Then he felt _something_ wrap around him. _Something_ cold and warm at the same time, resentful and gentle in kind. _Fearful, courageous—longing, oh how much it yearns_ —

And then the pain stopped and Will felt as if he was being forcefully wrenched away through a small hole.

“—ill! _Will!_ ”

Will trembles, unable to control his body. His limbs spasm, joints locked in place as slowly, _ever so slowly_ , Will’s consciousness wades through darkness— _and utter madness and suffering and—_

“Call the medics!”

“Oi Graham!”

Will tries but he couldn’t move on his own. Even with his mind screaming at him, nothing ever comes out except for the whimpers he could make. His hands and feet feel cold even when his spine feels as if it was on fire, his injured shoulder makes itself known and Will urges his body to _move and get out of there_.

Something restrains him, steely hands gripping his shoulders. And then there was more shouting and Will couldn’t tell if it was him or not. He scrabbled and griped, his mind screaming at him to _run—runrunrun—don’t return—leave_ —

“ _Will, stop it—!”_

He doesn’t. Will continues to push his convulsing limbs to move. Then there was a sharp sting on his forearm and then the cold sensation of having something injected into his veins. Will’s heart hammers, speeding up and drowning out everything.

His eyes roll back and his mind seizes itself.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will comes to with alertness, his entire frame jerking at the suddenness of it.

He gasps as a throb of pain started from behind his eyes, his blurred vision not saving him from the light. He presses his palms on his temple, rubbing at it in an effort to ease the pain. It doesn’t help, not really, but Will continues to do so as the throb slowly dulled into pulsing.

It is when the pain tapered off into something manageable did Will blink and take in where he is. His eyes had watered—and felt uncomfortably warm—but he merely wiped at it. Finally, the beeping registered to his senses, its rhythm quick and erratic.

The doors open briskly, and a rather short man walks in.

It takes Will a moment to realize he must be in a hospital.

“Mr. Graham,” The short man, harried looking and frantic, stated. “I must insist that you—”

“Doctor Anglin—”

The man cleared his throat, shifting in place as a woman—clearly a nurse—called out from the open door. “Yes, yes. I’ll come along.”

Will watches with squinted eyes and confusion as the doctor, indecisive and agitated, tapped his foot impatiently while looking at Will.

“Now Mr. Graham, as you can see we are a bit understaffed today and an influx of patients just came in—” The man, Doctor Anglin, stopped himself and cleared his throat again. “I trust you won’t do anything…?”

Will stares at the man dazedly before nodding.

“I’ll be back soon. If not, someone else will come in my stead.”

Doctor Anglin spared a sharp glance at Will before briskly making his way out of the room, leaving Will alone to come to grips with what happened.

_What happened?_

Will draws a blank.

He stares at the oximeter clipped on his finger. He tries to think back, to recount the last thing he _knows_ happened—

_Leave—_

Wincing at the flare of pain on his head, Will lies back, only now feeling how tired and sluggish his body (and mind) is. He moves an arm to shift the covers over his chest but found that now that the _snap-attention-surprise-confusion_ wore off, he could barely move it.

Will attempts to turn his head to look at what machines he was hooked to but immediately abandons the idea as his head throbbed, eyes watering. That was _not_ a good idea. So Will tries to keep still even with the restlessness creeping up on him.

The rhythmic beeping and exhaustion eventually lulled Will into sleep, his breath steady and slow.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“— _can’t expect him to work, Jack—!”_

“ _I damn well can’t just—”_

Will’s eyelids twitch, consciousness dragged into surface slowly by the raised voices.

“ _Just what? Leave him out in the open when it will do him more harm—”_

“ _I didn’t say I would take him back immediately—_ ”

It feels as if cotton was stuffed in his ears, the voices muddled and incomprehensible to his slow awakening. Will tries to move but found his arms unable to leave its place.

“ _It doesn’t matter if it’s not immediately! You said you won’t let him get too close—how many times have you broken your word, Jack?”_

The voices sounded familiar, as did their tones. Familiarity tugged something in his mind but the dull throb soon drove it away.

“ _I did what I had to do—”_

_“I know that—it’s your job. But it’s also my job to take care of Will!”_

Mustering up the strength to open his eyes through the heated cotton wool that decided to wrap around him, Will found himself unable to do so. It felt like his eyelids were glued shut.

_“You forget, Doctor Bloom, that you are not Will’s psychiatrist.”_

_“I know. It’s my job to protect him as my friend.”_

Struggling with his bonds—

_Bonds?_

Will pulled at his arms and feet, finding them bound to something—his bed? Valiantly fighting his exhaustion, Will pried his eyes open and finally succeeded. He immediately regretted it as the light blinded him, oblivious to the whimper he made that caused the people in the room to descend into silence.

“Will!”

This time he understood the word, its loud volume causing the dull throb to develop into sharp, drawn-out pain. Will pulled again at the bonds, toes curling and hands gripping tightly at the sheets as the pain travelled from his head and to his entire body. It started as a twitch, but then grew into uncontrolled jerking and fear found its way gripping into his pulse, setting his breaths turn into desperate gasps as he found the air difficult to breathe in.

“ _He’s having another seizure—!”_

Urgent voices surrounded him and Will vaguely felt his body being pushed to its side. Somehow, Will remembers not to choke on his own tongue and ends up coughing as he suddenly found himself able to breathe.

Slowly, the spasms lessened, as did the pain in his head and the blinding light. It never went away, but the spasms tapered off into twitches and then into erratic stiffening, until it stopped.

“Mr. Graham?”

Will blinks, finding himself staring again into blinding light.

“S-stop that.” Will found himself croaking out, mouth and throat feeling like sandpaper. “It hurts.”

The bright light was turned off with a click. “Good—” The man’s voice was laced with satisfaction. “That’s good.”

Will took a moment to orient himself, pausing at the absurdity of the man’s response. Taking the time to observe the man standing before him, Will stares at the bullet holes on the man’s torso, blood staining the otherwise pristine fabric of his coat.

“I’m Doctor Sutcliffe,” The man—apparently his doctor if Will’s mind was to believe it—stood with an air of confidence. “I’ll tell you now, you’ve been out for quite a while.”

Will stares, wishing the man would get to the point. Sutcliffe’s milky-blue eyes bothered him, as did the still bleeding wounds. But— _no, this isn’t Hobbs_ —

“To the point, please.” Will gritted out, lightly pulling at the _straps_ on his wrists.

Sutcliffe seemed to deflate but nodded with a grimace— _blood dripping from his mouth_ —“To be frank, I’m surprised this has gone long enough to be at this stage. I’m _surprised_ no one has noticed, even the esteemed Doctor Lecter.”

The doctor paused and Will refrains from glaring at him. “To put it simply, you have an advanced form of encephalitis. Sections of your brain are inflamed because of an infection and has been causing—” Sutcliffe gestured at him wryly. “— _this_.”

Will processes the information, only understanding half of what was said. “Are hallucinations part of it too?” Because that would _really_ explain it all.

Sutcliffe nodded. “Yes. Are you suffering from one now?”

Will stares at the blood and doesn’t hesitate, “Yes.” But knowing it was a hallucination was different from _not seeing_ it.

“I see.” Was all Sutcliffe said, peculiarly understanding and not asking questions Will won’t answer to. “Have you, perhaps, lost time as well?”

Will thinks back through the dull ache, wondering how he will actually _know_ if he lost time, “I don’t know.”

“Finding yourself in a different place without recalling how you got there?”

Pausing _—Abigail’s frightened eyes, stabbing Nicholas Boyle, trapping himself in a dark, dark pla—_ Will tugs again at his bonds before shaking his head.

“No? None at all?” Sutcliffe’s gaze wanders down on Will’s struggling and seemed to have come to a late realization. “Oh yes, about that, I’m sorry. Anglin had to have you tied down when your fits became too violent. However, we’ll have to wait and see if you won’t have violent attacks before we remove it.”

Will didn’t stop tugging even through the pain of welts and bruises.

Sutcliffe sighed. “Really, I would much rather have this conversation with you upright and clear-headed but this is simply the first time you’ve been aware enough to talk to. We’ll be starting administering antiviral agents as soon as possible and that would leave you drowsy, if not unconscious, most of the time.”

“I don’t—” Will mutters in answer, conceding to the point though still confused. “I don’t think I have lost time.”

“I… see…” Sutcliffe frowns. “That is very odd. To have advanced encephalitis and _not_ lose time… are you sure? Not even once?”

“Not even once.” Will repeats, eyes closing in thought, trying to remember if he _doesn’t_ remember being somewhere.

Silence stretched out over the two. Blood still oozed from Sutcliffe’s non-existent wounds, and Will was still confused and vaguely irritated.

“Who was here earlier?”

“Hmm?” Sutcliffe wrote down something on his clipboard. “Jack Crawford, I believe, as well as Doctor Bloom.”

“Has Ha-Doctor Lecter come by to visit?”

“Oh, yes, he came with that girl—Hobbs—a few days ago.” Sutcliffe blinks and stares down at Will. “Actually, we’ve discussed your condition.”

“What condition?” Will asked warily. He didn’t have the _luxury_ of having a doctor-patient confidentiality between him and Hannibal. In principle, Will disliked people poking through his head and the embroidered _‘Neurology’_ on Sutcliffe’s blood-stained coat doesn’t reassure him any. He only spared a second in surprise at his presence of mind.

“Your inflamed brain,” Sutcliffe answered drily before becoming serious again. “Doctor Lecter said you did not exhibit the symptoms that would point to advanced encephalitis.” Sutcliffe paused. “Nor did Doctor Bloom, for that matter. Curious case you’ve got there to have escaped notice.”

“Or it just spontaneously amped up in a short span of time.” Will grumbled, feeling the excitement of the last few—minutes?—dragging his consciousness down to question.

“Perhaps.” Sutcliffe noted down something. “That is a possibility. Although what caused it would be the question…”

Blearily blinking at the speculative gaze of milky-blue eyes, Will let his head fall closer to one shoulder. “Magic?” He was spouting off nonsense at this point.

“If only things were _that_ easy. And _this_ is definitely not easy.” Sutcliffe scoffed and Will let his eyes slide shut. “I’ll leave you to your rest then.”

He didn’t even hear the door close.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The next time Will awoke, he was alone. As alone as having to stare at a strange black creature with large antlers, that is. The creature was very familiar, its mane—neck?—of feathers brushing against him every once in a while as the creature paced around his bed-ridden form.

It was odd, being able to see the creature clearly yet still feel as if there was _more_ to it—that it wasn’t an arbitrary piece of imagination that his subconscious created on a whim. He just had to find out what it meant.

Still, the drugs running in his system left him exhausted and drifting in and out of awareness. He didn’t like it.

Sometimes he hears Alana, smells her perfume, and have flashbacks of when Will was the one watching a bed-ridden body. Sometimes it was Sutcliffe who converses with him even with his half-assed and slurred answers. There was one time Will caught scent of an unfamiliar perfume, though distinctly feminine and tugged at some memories.

He wasn’t quite able to ask if Jack— _not Hannibal?_ —ever came back to visit him again.

Often, he was alone. Those were the times Will spoke to his silent and most definitely hallucinated spectators. Those were also the times Will questioned whether the drugs really were working.

Apparently they were because as time passed, Will felt more and more clear-headed. As if his mind belonged to him again. And his moments of clarity were becoming longer as they gradually lessened his dosage.

But Will’s mind is nothing but reticent.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“Well, considering how extreme your reactions were,” Sutcliffe was saying with a frown, “You’re healing quite quickly.”

“Great.” Will had a slight smile, his expression only a few parts faked— _three weeks spent on a bed, really_ — it didn’t matter if he felt as if Sutcliffe was holding something back. “Does that mean I can get off of this?” The hospital bed was mocking him.

“If your body permits it, of course you can.” Sutcliffe was a pleasant man, if not a bit of an ass-kisser. Not anybody’s idea of an ideal doctor, but Will could appreciate genuine effort. “Doctor Lecter advised that, ah, I should ‘ _leave Will Graham to create his own pace’_ as if he’s in charge.”

Will froze. “Did he?” There had been no mention of Lecter the few days Will was lucid. Will liked to believe that it was for the better.

Sutcliffe gave a less than professional huff. “His opinions are respected among his colleagues, but you aren’t his patient, are you?”

“No.” His answer was said haltingly, his dislike over the term apparent. “No, I’m not.”

“He’s a clever, _clever_ man.” The statement almost sounded like a warning. “If not a patient, then what are you?”

_And the devil woke in his heart with a thousand vile suggestions and made him afraid.(1)_

Will swallowed. “A friend.”

Nicholas Boyle stared straight into his eyes.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

When Will stepped out of the cab, finally home after more or less a month— _a month!_ —spent cooped up in the hospital, he wasn’t expecting a visitor. Much less _visitors_ , if he drew his conclusions correctly. The parked cars were telling. And there went the idea of resting the rest of the day away.

“Will!” Alana Bloom accosted him before he was even able to close the cab’s door, her smile showing relief. “Welcome back.”

“This is trespassing on private property,” Will shot back, only a quarter of it real anger. He held his scowl a bit longer, careful about a shift in Alana’s emotions, before he let it melt away when her smile twitched in hesitance. “Thank you.”

If he hadn’t spent a lot of time with people observing him, he would have missed the sharp once-over Alana gave him before it disappeared back into her smile. “I really am glad you’re fine now. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to notice anything wrong—”

“It’s done, Alana.” Will interjected, lips pursed. It really was. He didn’t feel any different. “Who’s with you?”

Alana didn’t need to answer as the door opened and he was greeted by his dogs. He smiled, missing the comfort his pack gave him and let out a small chuckle as they pawed at his legs until he knelt on the ground—only to be knocked down as seven dogs clambered over him in excitement. Will focused on giving attention to each member of his pack, relieved to see that they were taken care of while he was away.

A sharp whistle broke through his focus, even the dogs stopped.

“Never seen them _that_ excited even with a squirrel,” Katz sauntered closer to them, shooing Charlie and Buster away and offered her hand to him. “I’m charging for every hour I had to take care of them.”

Will blinked but took the offered hand (out of shock, mind you), not sure _when_ exactly he and Katz became this casual. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Hm, well, Doctor Bloom over here asked me to.” To which Alana raised an eyebrow in response.

“Charge her, not me.” Will took a look at who else was there and tensed as he saw Lecter. “Doctor Lecter,” He said in greeting, immediately followed by a surprised, “Abigail.”

“Well it’s nice to see you up and about, Graham,” Katz continued absently, sending a smirk over to Alana. “But I gotta run. You know, case still not done and all that. Bossman would probably call you up later, so enjoy your time before then.” And then she was striding to her car.

Will was struck by the reminder of a case. Have they found the lost boys? Had there been another murder? Or— it was useless to think about it now. Jack would probably tell him later.

 _He doesn’t trust you_.

The small voice was steadfastly ignored even if some part of him believed it.

“Hello Mr. Graham,” Abigail had a polite smile on her face and Will took a moment to wonder _why_ she was here. She looked better than the last time he saw her though. No bags under her eyes, no downward twitch of her lip; she seemed more relaxed and… _settled_. She still looked tired, a frown still marring her forehead. It was the stress, perhaps, of still not finding her brothers.

Lecter stood at her side, mask in place even when Will could easily see through it. “I apologize for not being attentive enough—”

“Apologies wouldn’t do anything, Doctor Lecter,” Will didn’t know where the irritability came from but it was all he could do to curb the urge to be scathing. “It wasn’t your job to look out for me.”

Lecter paused and Will knew that _somehow_ he had said something wrong. “Nonetheless, I should have at least seen the signs of your illness before you required an ambulance to send you to a hospital.”

Will sighed and was about to respond but Alana cut him to it. “Let’s just agree that it’s good to see that Will is alright. Now, let’s all go inside before it gets any colder.”

Seeing that it was a sensible command, Will called for his pack, smiling fondly at how dirty most of them became in a short period of time. He was about to herd them inside when he paused, looking at his guests. He wasn’t sure if it would be a good idea.

But then Abigail bent down to rub Winston’s head, a small smile gracing her features.

Alana was already on the porch, looking at them all expectantly. Will and Lecter shared a glance before the older man went first. With the help of Abigail, Will herded the pack into the house and out of the chill. It was… nice, seeing Abigail light up at the notion.

“They are well-trained,” Lecter commented as the dogs immediately went to their spots to lie down, content to watch the humans do their thing. Abigail went to sit near Maggie, one of the dogs Will actually picked up from the shelter.

“They’re good dogs,” Will amended as he went into his surprisingly stocked kitchen. “Alana, did you buy groceries again?”

As if summoned, she appeared beside him, her smile sheepish. “Someone had to.”

Will shook his head. “No one needed to and this is much more than I need. I’ll pay for them later.”

“There’s no need, Will,” Alana said, exasperation coloring her voice. “I swear the only food I saw was bought from the convenience store. You need more than that to survive.”

“I’m not a charity case,” Will paused, putting down the last mug he needed before closing the cupboard door, and sent a long, suspicious look to Alana. “You slept here?”

“I was not about to take an hour and a half drive in the middle of the night,” Alana defended. “Besides, it was only once and your dogs were more than accommodating. I used the couch.”

His arguments died at his throat when his landline rang. Will went to answer it but was beaten to it as it suddenly cut off. He still went to it anyway, curious as to who would call him.

A few words were exchanged between Lecter, who had answered the phone, and the caller before it was passed to him. “It’s Jack Crawford,” Lecter explained.

He should have known. Will pursed his lips but placed the receiver on his ear, gaze skittering around his curious audience.

“ _Will_.”

“Jack.” No need to make this any easier for Jack.

There was a pause. Two beats, and then Jack gave an explosive sigh. “ _I’m glad to hear you’re in good condition.”_

 _Not quite damaged anymore, right?_ But Will bit it back and instead let out a half-way sincere “thank you” before cutting to the chase. “What is it that you want, Jack? Obviously this isn’t a social call if I can hear the ruckus behind you.”

“ _We found a lead to the ‘Lost Boys’ case. One Chris O’Halloran was caught by CCTV with an unidentified woman._ _His parents live in Fayetteville, North Carolina_. _FBI had the place surrounded and found him there with a gun pointed at his parents._ ”

Anger surged through him at the careless disregard of _family_. “And?” Impatience laced his tone.

“ _We also found the missing Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs._ ”

:::...~~~-0-~~~...:::

**(1) Quote from Algernon Blackwood**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo! Thank you to all those who reviewed/bookmarked/gave kudos/worshiped satan-- oh, ignore that last part.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite a day after but still better than a month, yeah? Take this as a treat to y'all *grins*  
> Anyways! This chapter might seem a bit... scattered. Blame me and my thought process that only makes sense to yours truly.
> 
> Also I have this poll going on in my ffnet profile about Beverly Katz' fate and so far--  
> Don’t kill: 6  
> Different approach (whatever that entails): 5  
> Canon: 2  
> Just leave your vote in the comments below if you don't want to do the effort of going to ffnet.

There must be something said about the lack of _empathy_ when it comes to interrogations. There was nothing to see, nothing to hear but your own thoughts, regrets, plans, and the demons that whisper words into your ears. It was _you_ , trapped in a cold, gray room, waiting for the other shoe to drop, all the while knowing every movement you made was recorded. Not quite a prison, but with the effect of it.

It was a place of observation and scrutiny; of tripping people into confession.

It was a place of detainment.

It was no place for children.

“Jack,” Alana’s voice had all the venom of a poisonous snake as she made her way straight to the head of the BSU. “ _What_. Are. They. Doing here?”

Alana, of course, was talking about the detainment of the ‘Lost Boys’. It had been a sad sight—even Will had stopped a moment to watch Alana wipe the tears from Jesse Turner’s eyes, her usually warm eyes _burning_. Now they’re here in Jack’s office, having left Abigail with her brothers for the time being (Will was glad to have his temporary badge for once).

“They’re here for interrogation.” Jack didn’t even look up from the papers he was reading. If Will were another person, it would have infuriated him, but he wasn’t and he saw the stolen glances at Alana.

 _Jack_ , Will was almost amused to think, _Jack’s afraid of Alana_. ‘Afraid,’ perhaps, was too strong a word. ‘Cautious,’ maybe?

“ _Without_ the presence of a juvenile officer? They are minors— _children_ , for God’s sake.”

Lecter stood to the side, watching the proceedings with veiled amusement that Will only saw because he was feeling it too.

“They are being held in for homicide—”

“I don’t _care_ what they’re being held in for!”  Alana slammed her hand on Jack’s desk, startling the man enough to put down the papers he was holding. “Answer. The question. Are you interrogating them without a juvenile officer?”

“Yes.”

Alana narrowed her eyes. “Is that a ‘ _yes, we’re refusing them their rights_ ’ or a _‘yes, we have a juvenile officer at hand_ ’ in which case I don’t believe I’ve seen them _anywhere_.”

Honestly, it was like watching cats fight.

Jack’s fingers tapped at the table in agitation. “What are you even doing here?”

Alana opened her mouth to answer, or maybe to bulldoze Jack’s deflection, but Lecter cut her off, putting a hand on her shoulder. He whispered something in Alana’s ear to which she nodded curtly. Will swallowed his agitation. Lecter was too close to Alana.

“Perhaps it would be better to leave Jack to handle his responsibilities,” Lecter spoke to the room at large, “We have not been gone long but Abigail shouldn’t be left alone.”

There was a tension in the room now. Will didn’t know whether it was because they were still strung up from the case or because of the mention of Abigail. Jack couldn’t have forgotten that Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs were there and there was little chance that Abigail won’t be with them.

A few beats of silence settled over the group, each person none too willing to break it.

The tension lingered even as they exited the office.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“Shouldn’t you be out dealing with the press?” Will wondered out loud as they stalked through the halls. Alana and Lecter were walking a step ahead and Will had fallen to the back, unwilling to let any of them out of his sight in an irrational wave of paranoia.

Jack turned to give him a look. “Who says I didn’t?”

“Because you’re here,” Will responds, “right now. They’d be clamoring for this story like sharks that smelt blood. The five lost boys found with a mother searching for what she would call a _family_.”

Jack comments, “Minus one.”

“Minus one,” Will agreed. “The Wendy of the group. Connor Frist.”

“Except he’s a he and Peter Pan isn’t quite as fond of him.”

They walk in silence. Will’s mind wanders. It was odd, the ease of which they arrived in. There was no crowd of reporters and journalists, no unfortunate souls of the local PD who has to act as the barrier, _no Freddie Lounds_.

And suddenly, Will comes into realization. “You were protecting them.” Jack looks at him but Will continues on, voice bewildered and grim. “Their lives—the boys wouldn’t be the same again. They forfeited that life when they held the gun against their family. But the public—even Tattle Crime—didn’t know that, did they.”

“No,” Jack said in agreement, “Juvenile cases is the cold coffee of the bureau—generally disliked and dealt with a grimace, sometimes better off done swiftly. Nothing to blab about.” Jack rubbed his chin. “Besides, discretion is the key and the immediate arrival of a juvenile officer would paint a bad picture. If they were to come later, it would seem like an afterthought.”

“As if their case isn’t a heavy one,” Will stares at Jack, wondering if he should feel astonished or not. This isn’t the first time Will dealt with a case that involved children. Not really. But Jack clearly deserves his status as the head of the BSU. Even if he’s so righteous. “You haven’t started interrogation yet, have you?”

“Of course not. What do you take me for?”

Will shoots a look at Alana, who was again speaking with Lecter to whom Will sent a glare to. “You could have just told her.”

“I tried to explain, she cut me off. I got out of it with less effort than she did.”

Will’s stare, this time, is incredulous.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

They were in a waiting room of sorts—Will refuses to call it holding cell—and Abigail was waiting for them just outside the door. Will focused on her, seeing the relaxed way she held herself, the carefree tilt of her lips, and the bright shine to her eyes. She looked _happy_.

“Mr. Crawford,” Abigail greets, her voice lighter than Will remembered.

Jack took a long, careful look at her before nodding back cordially, “Abigail.” And then he was off to talk to the uniformed agent who served as the supervision to the boys. It wasn’t welcoming but Will guessed it was better than ignoring her like Jack used to. Maybe something happened in his month of absence?

Abigail, the perceptive and clever girl that she is, knew that too and had a look of surprise on her face. Will caught her eye and he made an effort to look—approving? He didn’t really know because try as he might, Will didn’t think he could pull his lips up into a smile without looking deranged. So instead, he shrugged.

“How did it go?” Curiosity laced Lecter’s voice as he asked and Will found amusement in the surprisingly plebian wording. And of course, ‘ _it’_ being the obviously-bordering-on-illegal act of letting Abigail talk to her brothers without permission. Badge flashing and all that.

The smile that beamed at them was open and genuine.

“Thank you,” Abigail said instead of _actually_ telling them how it went. Clever girl. “It’s great to see them back here.” Then her face fell. “What’s going to happen now?”

_Isn’t that always the question?_

“They’ll have to go to trial,” Will answers, ignoring the sharp look Alana sent to him. “Until then, I’m sure you’re still allowed to meet them.” _But after…_

And because Alana’s glare is burning holes on his head, Will hurriedly tacked on, “Of course, Alana here would have to allow you to.”

It was petulant, in a way, because Abigail’s attention snapped over to Alana, almost daring the woman to say anything close to not allowing her. He felt Alana’s anger dissipate at the pleading gaze.

“I won’t come in between you and your brothers, Abigail,” Alana’s voice is soft now— _condescending_ in Abigail’s ears, marked by her frown.

“Really?” _And there was the_ _beautiful little girl_ — and there was the girl who could shed crocodile tears to get her way. “You won’t stand between me or my brothers?”

Alana faltered, briefly seeking the eyes of Lecter before looking back at Abigail. “No. Not unless I need to.”

The profiler in him—sharp and observant—saw a glimpse of a proud smirk curve at Abigail’s lips before it became a smile. Don’t think he didn’t catch the change of phrasing. Somehow, Will felt it was an almost binding promise that Alana made—one that Abigail would hold on to her.

Will felt an odd swell of pride.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

 _Somehow_ , their group of four—of whom no one was actually needed—was given permission to stay and observe the proceedings. And in some way, Ha- Lecter managed to convince _Jack_ —bullheaded, what-I-know-is-Gospel _Jack Crawford_ —to turn a blind eye on Abigail’s presence. Apparently he, Lecter, had been Will’s _replacement_ when he was otherwise indisposed and (not verbatim, obviously) Lecter lorded it over Jack that the head of the BSU owed him.

The juvenile officer came in the form of a naïve and friendly Ms. Buchwald. Her voice flowed with a melodious cadence that grated on Will’s nerves and a welcoming stance that Alana approved of. Though Will had his misgivings of the woman, she was able to put the children at ease.

And now here they watched behind the one-way mirror, an odd group of people in one way or another trained to scrutinize every shift and tick of a person.

Buchwald escorted in a reluctant C.J. Lincoln, the first one in.

“I still don’t understand how they justify killing their own family,” Will couldn’t help but comment, taking in the tight-lipped, defensive posture Lincoln adopted as soon as he was sat on the chair. “You can’t just… throw it all away because you didn’t like them.”

“The radical corruption (1) of a child’s impressionable mind,” Lecter added though Will is not sure if it was answer or a running comment. “Humans do tend to hear what they want to hear. They were conscious about what they were doing, though perhaps a bit disillusioned.”

“We can’t give them back what they’ve lost,” Alana’s voice was firm, her frown pronounced as she watched the agent coaxing an answer from the seething boy. “At best, they’d be thrown in the foster system.”

“It’s great to be optimistic Doctor Bloom,” Jack responded. “But the best they’d get will be a few years in juvy and that is disregarding the fact that they could be tried in Court, not JC. That means they’d be rubbing elbows with adult criminals.”

For a moment, Will was worried of Abigail but she was staring at the glass, lost in thought.

They tapered off into grim silence, watching behind the one-way mirror as C.J. Lincoln had to be held down, seething and glaring at the nonplussed agent questioning him. They couldn’t hear what was being said but Lincoln grew angrier and angrier as words left his mouth.

Will wondered what he was saying.

“The black sheep of the family,” Will startled as Lecter spoke beside him. “He felt as if he wasn’t getting enough attention.”

Will wasn’t able to stop his snort. “I didn’t kill my dad when I was thirteen.”

“You’re an only child, Will,” Jack muttered. “Not enough motivation to run away. These boys are the youngest of three. Ran away because their parents can’t give them enough love then found it in a stranger that picked them up.”

“Except for my brothers.” Abigail piped up, her eyes cold.

“Yes,” The grimace was heard on Jack’s voice. “They don’t exactly fit the profile.”

“At least we found them,” Will shot back, biting down as much sarcasm as he could. “And not dead.” Don’t think he would forget how they were so ready to list Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs as dead.

“The FBI’s been wrong before,” Jack freely agreed. Which was unusual. _What happened to Jack?_

His incredulity must be showing on his face because Lecter leaned closer to him as if sharing a guarded secret. “Alana gave him a, ah, public dressing-down.”

Will snorted. _Of course_. “Strike at the weakest point to pull a man down.”

After that they stayed in silence, occasionally voicing their thoughts as, one by one, the boys were let in. Jesse Turner chose to remain silent, not even looking up to anyone talking to him. Chris O’Halloran willingly answered any questions he was given.

And then it was the Hobbs’ turn.

“Don’t separate them.” Abigail suddenly cut the silence, eyes narrowed and voice sharp. There was a spark of fear in her eyes that Will wasn’t sure of. “Don’t ever keep them away from each other.”

The three adults shared a glance and even Will could practically taste the question. _Why?_

“You won’t like it when they are separated.”

This time it held a warning. Will watched her, searching for anything that would sate his curiosity. _Why?_ Knowledge about her brothers were sparse, everything he knew came from Abigail herself and she wasn’t entirely sharing. She—as well as her father—was protective of them, Harry was her favorite, and she had a dislike in Tom. Then now she has fear.

 _Fear_ for _them or fear_ of _them?_

He was disturbed from his thoughts when there was a familiar click of a door closing. Will looked through the glass, watching as Jack shared a quick conversation with Buchwald and the interrogator. It seems whatever Jack told them confused the two women but nonetheless agreed and then Jack lumbered over back with them, arms crossed and staring at Abigail.

And _oh_ Will had to blink in disbelief. _Jack_ heeded the warnings of a nineteen-year-old girl that he didn’t even like. Alana was looking between the two of them as well and Will was glad he wasn’t the only one surprised.

“ _What?_ ” Jack’s response was almost defensive, hidden behind his irritable countenance. “I’ve talked to the two of them. I saw how close they are. _I_ _think_ it’s better to keep them together for this.”

Will turned away to hide his grin. Whatever happened to Jack this past month, Will hoped its effects would last longer. He was more agreeable this way.

Buchwald re-entered the room carrying a plastic chair that she set down beside the other vacated seat. Following after her were two boys.

Beyond the blurry and grainy photos in the short file Will had been given, he had nothing to go on about the two other Hobbs’. But when his eyes landed on them, Will couldn’t help the involuntary shiver than ran up his spine.

Although claimed as twins, Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs only shared an almost sickly pale skin and hair so dark that it seemed to swallow the light that touched it. Where Thomas Hobbs stood tall with an unreadable expression on his sharp features, Hadrian lagged half a step behind his twin, almost wearing his heart on his sleeve with a delicate twitch and seemed to curl into the hand clutching his.

The most unnerving, perhaps, are their eyes. Blood red eyes that glittered in the light, cold and calculating, paired to another set of deep, emerald green that shone brighter than the stone it looked most similar to, as calculating as the other.

Even in the distance and the nature of one-way mirrors, Will unintentionally met the eyes of the youngest Hobbs. Wide, green eyes stared deep into him and Will knew he shouldn’t feel that way and that they can’t be seen on the other side of the glass but it felt as if his very _soul_ was bared—

“Will?” Lecter’s voice cut into his thoughts.

“Yes?” He peeked at Lecter in the corner of his eyes, muscles tensed and breath shallower than they should be. The older man was looking at him with a frown.

“Is there anything wrong?”

“No,” Will answered with his own frown, playing ignorant although he knew it was futile. “Why?”

“My hands are becoming quite numb.”

“What?” Blinking, Will looked down to where his hand clamped around Lecter’s in a white-knuckled grip. Letting go of the appendage as if burnt, Will felt embarrassment curl unwelcomingly around him. “I—I’m sorry Doctor Lecter. I didn’t realize—I didn’t even _know_.”

“You’re looking rather pale,” Will refused to look in Ha- Lecter’s direction, hoping that if he didn’t look at the other man, his embarrassment would be forgotten. “Perhaps we should get you back to Wolf Trap—”

“No!” Will cut in, flushing when the others noticed their little exchange. “I—no, I’m fine Doctor Lecter, just felt a bit dizzy, that’s all.”

“ _William_ ,” The doctor’s tone caused Will to look up. “You’ve just gotten back from the Hospital. If you’re not feeling good, it’s best that you take a rest. It won’t do you any good if you were to tire yourself and jeopardize your recovery.”

“I—” Will was forced to look at blood-spilt eyes that gleamed with a subtle threat and had to shut his mouth and swallow his words.

Alana provided reprieve when Will felt uncomfortable with the intense gaze. “Is everything okay?”

“Ye—”

“Will is feeling a bit light-headed.”

Crossing his arms, Will glared at the older man. “It passed. I’m good. I’m not feeling tired at all.” Alana opened her mouth and Will glared at her too. “I’m not going back to Wolf Trap.”

Besides, it wasn’t a post-encephalitis reaction. Will turned his gaze back into the interrogation room and onto the two children seated beside each other, almost glued at the side with how close they were sitting.

There was… _something_ about them. And Will felt it with every beat of his heart.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“You said it yourself, Will,” Lecter was saying. “You’re not going back to Wolf Trap.”

“I meant that _earlier_ ,” Will snapped, arms crossed and glaring at Lecter who wasn’t even looking at him. “You know, when we were in the bureau to do _our_ job. I would have been on my way home _to Wolf Trap_ if you just turn this car around and make our way there or, better yet, drop me off _now_ so I can call for a cab.”

They had just dropped off a reluctant Abigail in Port Haven with promises of picking her up tomorrow to see her brothers. Alana chose to stay with Jack to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare the Lost Boys case turned into with the added controversy of the presence of the Hobbs boys... yeah. That left him with Lecter.

Will cursed himself for thinking that a three-car convoy would look weird and instead took a lift with Alana.

“I cannot, in good conscience, leave you alone when you proved that you won’t be responsible with your health.” Lecter continued his tirade, darting a quick glance at Will to emphasize his point. “It would only be for this night. I understand you have had your fill with doctors hovering over your shoulder; however, you must be aware that two weeks is too short a time for you to recover from encephalitis.”

“Doctor Sutcliffe gave me a clean bill of health,” Will answered with a frown. “I think he’d have me tied down at the smallest opportunity.”

Silence fell over them and there was some sort of tension, as if Lecter is expecting him to say something. Will doesn’t know what, and observing the other man didn’t prove anything. The radio was even turned off.

Will blurted the first thing that came to mind, the tension stifling him, “You’re worried?”

Again, silence was his answer. Will was starting to think that dealing with Nicholas Boyle and the Stag was easier than being alone with Lecter. At least _they_ were easier to ignore than the elephant in the room, or car for their situation.

Fine, if Lecter wanted the silent game, Will would indulge him.

“I am.”

 _Finally_ —

Will blinks, “Pardon?”

“I am worried for you,” Lecter met his eyes for a brief moment before turning his attention back to the road. “I find myself guilty with seemingly ignoring you. I realized that I had been lacking when Jack called me in for assistance when you were already confined in the hospital. For that, I apologize.”

“Oh,” Will shifts, feeling uncomfortable, anger and irritation deflating in face of the first _genuine_ thing he saw from Lec- Hannibal. “Yo- you’re not compelled to know _everything_ , Doctor Lecter.”

There was a loud honk behind them and then a white Volvo passed beside them, dangerously close and Will saw a glimpse of the driver making rude gestures at them. A frown formed on his face. During their talk, Hannibal had swiftly veered to the left to avoid being in the way.

“ _Rude_ ,” Will huffed.

“Quite,” Hannibal agreed. “Perhaps we should continue this once we’re more comfortable and not risking being run-over by impatient drivers.”

Will raised an eyebrow, “Would this be counted as a therapy session now?”

“Of course not.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

When they arrived, Hannibal paused at the doorway before letting the two of them in.

“I apologize,” Hannibal spoke as he led Will through the threshold of his home. “I did not take into account that I would be entertaining a guest for the night and have therefore not thought ahead to prepare for dinner.”

Will’s eyes roamed, taking in the lavish décor. If he thought Hannibal’s office was pretentious, it really wasn’t too far off to assume that his home would be too.

Rich colors painted the walls, paired tastefully with the furniture. Dark wood tables clearly polished regularly, with no space looking empty. Artworks, sculptures and paintings alike, dotted along the rooms Will caught glimpses of. There was no spot that Will could see that didn’t scream refined wealth.

 _Ostentatious_ , Will thought, feeling distinctly out of place, _but definitely designed to please the eyes._

“Would you be averse to something simple?”

Will startles, “Oh, uh. No. I mean, I liked your protein scramble.”

“What you consume has a significant effect on your mood,” Hannibal glanced at him. “I prefer allowing a fluidity and freedom to what I make for my friends.”

“What do you suggest, then, Doctor Lecter?”

“Eggs Benedict, perhaps?”

“Breakfast for dinner? Not too proper, is it.”

“Lemuel Benedict ordered toast, bacon, and poached eggs suffering from a hangover.”

“Quaint,” Will bit back a snort. “Do you need help?”

“I will never refuse good company.”

“I’m barely conversation material, doctor, you know that.”

“Hardly. But for your benefit, just company, then.”

Will paused in their almost-banter-but-not, taking in the gleaming surfaces and equipment as they entered the kitchen. If Will thought that the house is well taken care of, then the kitchen is an altar. Each item had been treated with reverence and skill; everything had its place, neatly arranged by the inhabitant’s preference. He knew, too, that no item is completely useless, everything having a purpose.

Will awkwardly stood in a corner as Hannibal flitted through his domain with measured motions.

“I don’t see what I can do here,” Will spoke, occupying as small a space as possible. “I’m only going to be in your way.”

“Not to worry,” Hannibal carefully folded his sleeves having already divested himself of the jacket, vest, and tie. “Eggs Benedict is not a time-consuming dish. Sending you to the drawing room would simply be a waste of effort.”

“Suit yourself.”

So Will did his best to relax, crossing his arms with the lack of doing anything. He watched silently for a minute, eyes tracking the practiced movements the doctor made.

“Why am I here?” Will finally asked.

“Did I not tell you—”

“Cut the crap, _Hannibal_ ,” Will wasn’t angry, not really. “You might have been guilty and worried, but that’s not _all_ , is it?”

Hannibal didn’t stop his movements, the sound of frying meat not able to be heard above the tension.

“Is there a reason why you are expecting an ulterior motive behind this gesture of being a friend?”

“No,” Will narrowed his eyes. “But alright, I’ll go straight to my point. _Who are you?_ ”

“I am Hannibal Lecter,” Nothing could be drawn from his voice. “Or have you forgotten?”

“ _No_ ,” Will repeated. “I know you’re Hannibal Lecter. But you’re also someone else. _Something_ else, almost.”

Will took Hannibal’s silence as permission to continue. “No one, I mean _no one_ , would have agreed to hide a body, no matter the circumstance. Unless they are coerced into it, or have something to gain by doing it. I don’t see you as someone who will ever be coerced into doing something you don’t like.”

“I do prefer having control over what I do,” Hannibal agreed, not looking up from his chopping. “Most people prefer that.”

“ _Most people_ don’t have anything to gain from hiding a dead body.”

“It was to help Abigail, wasn’t it?”

“ _Yes_. But there’s—” _What did he know about Hannibal?_ “You don’t take risks without careful consideration. You prefer to be in control and you know how to do it without anyone noticing.”

 _But then, why?_ “You’re hiding something, that much is obvious—you enjoy pulling the veil on everyone’s eyes. No, you needed it to but now it’s different.”

Hannibal finally turns and Will stares into his eyes, sinks into what he knows, “It’s been a long time. You’ve secured your place, deceived those fools who easily danced to your whims. It amused you, watching them gravitate towards you none the wiser.”

“But,” Will sees, _watches_ as he carefully tried to unfurl what’s already in front of him, “It became less exciting, less appealing, lacking, _boring_. The place at the top is such a desolate place. It must be _lonely_.”

But he was still missing something. Hannibal is a psychiatrist, a skilled former surgeon, could practically have what he wants with his charm and manipulation. He had _power_. And he had his _desires_.

“Which one are you?” Will mutters, breaking eye contact. “You’re experienced,” Will riffles through his memories. _Surgeon. Manipulation. Capabilities._ “Definitely not your first time,” Hannibal _knew_ how to escape detection.

_That crime scene was practically gift-wrapped._

_Hannibal was inducted by Jack for the Minnesota Shrike._

Will paused. “The copycat killer?” Yes. But there’s still something _missing._ Will tilted his head to the side with a frown, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. There’s a large possibility that it wasn’t the first time the copycat killer let himself be seen.

 _It’s like he had to show me a negative so that I could see the positive_.

 _There’s no traceable motive, there’ll be no patterns_. _He may never kill this way again._

Who? Who would have the same touch? The same—similar pattern. The similar way of _mocking_ his victims. Of taking organs while alive.

He let the pendulum swing.

And Will could have cursed himself.

When he opened his eyes, reeling from his discovery, Hannibal was in front of him, a gleam of _something_ in his spilt-blood eyes. Almost like a hunger, a kind of _longing_ , an adoration blessed to a most prized possession.

_Oh, Will, you don’t know how precious you are._

Will blinked and the moment was gone.

“To the dinner table, yes?” Hannibal spoke. “Or would you rather we eat here in the kitchen?”

“Like a pair of naughty children?” Will’s lips twitched upwards. “I think your desired answer would be the dinner table.”

There was a change in the air now, almost tangible and sudden. Will was surprised that he felt more comfortable now, floating aimlessly without a paddle instead of drowning in the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)“"Radical" comes from the Latin word for "root" or "core." Our problem with sin is that it is rooted in the core of our being. It permeates our hearts.” –R.C. Sproul
> 
> Also that cameo, lol. Beth won't even have a major role, just found it funny.
> 
> By the way, Hannibal totally forced Sutcliffe to be Will’s doctor. Just thought to add that bit here because there’s no way Hannibal would admit to that. Or Sutcliffe, for that matter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d include some more things about juvenile delinquency at the end notes. I tried to make it as accurate as possible there are things that would be out of place (like those permits they have).
> 
> I’m getting so much positive responses all around that it makes me worried if it would actually live up to any of your standards. Thank you for that by the way.
> 
> Here’s to hoping you won’t be angry at me!

The fire was roaring high in the fireplace, the burning logs hissing and crackling as the moisture inside it burned. It cast a glow and warmth in the room, illuminating it just enough for Will to stare at the other seat beside him, angled to face both the hearth and the chosen companion for the night.

Hannibal walked in, carrying two glasses and a bottle of liquor that he set down on the small table between the two armchairs before taking his own seat.

Will studied him, taking in the sharp angles that were pronounced by the light of the fire, watching and deliberating _this man_ who carefully constructed everything and controlled himself with precision.

 _The Chesapeake Ripper_.

He remembered those files. The pictures of the bodies prepared in a way that spoke of artistry instead of the brutality and passion most victims of serial killers become. He remembered his fascination of the capability of _anyone_ being able to pull off those works. Remembered burying those files and refusing to look at it without the necessity of using it as teaching material.

He didn’t try to understand him, didn’t try to _see_ because looking too closely would open doors Will didn’t want to exist—doors that Will just now realized already existed and the keys have always been with him.

And now here he is.

Will stares into the fire and watches his companion at the corner of his eye. “How bad would I be if I want to see everything undone and never put it back the same as it did before?”

“It is quite normal to feel that way.” The doctor pours amber liquid into the glasses. “We all have done actions we wish to correct that often leads to a harsh judgment of what we could have done.”

“And yet we still make the same mistakes.”

“Each individual has their own way of coping with what they have done wrong.” Hannibal offered a glass half-filled with the amber liquid. “Some merely refuse to acknowledge their missteps and does not recognize it as their own fault.”

Will accepted the glass with a raised eyebrow. “Whiskey? I thought I’m here because apparently I can’t watch out for my own self.” He barely managed to lessen the sarcasm in his tone.

“I thought the gesture would be appreciated.”

Taking a sip from the glass—it had no ice, Will could be cautious if he wanted to—he hummed as the liquid slid down his throat, leaving behind a smoky aftertaste that lingers on his tongue. “Much appreciated.”

“A particularly well-aged bottle of Scotch an old colleague imparted to me when he visited Europe.” Hannibal raised his own glass in response. “Although I would advise that you consume no more than what I have given you, Will.”

Will snorted. “Yes, of course, _doctor_.” Then he took another sip and savored the burn. He hadn’t quite forgotten his anger from earlier yet.

Their conversation tapered off into silence that wasn’t comfortable nor was it ill-fitting. The logs still hissed and the clock still ticked somewhere in the room. Will let the amber liquid to slosh around his glass, the orange light from the fire giving it a different shade.

“What makes you so confident?” Will rested his elbows on his knees, still not sparing a glance towards the doctor. “Here I am, sitting beside you, drinking scotch before going to bed, like some macabre interpretation of a play. _I know_ of your secrets—” Will paused and then amended, “—at least part of it.”

He wonders why he is letting _this man_ to convince him. Convince him of doing _what_ , exactly? Will knew, and had come to accept, the consequences of making a deal with the devil.

“And I know of yours as well.” Hannibal responded neutrally. “It would be hardly beneficial for yourself if you were to suddenly confess your sins to the Father. You do not strike me as someone who would go back on your word.”

“We do things out of desperation.” Will answers dryly, recognizing the impasse they have entered.

“And the desperate man is a prime example of a being starting his odyssey (1).” Hannibal threw in and Will felt the doctor’s gaze on him.

There was no response Will could think of giving to the other man so he shrugs and leans back to the arm chair, putting down the almost empty glass of scotch on the table.

An odyssey. _A change to come_. _I would be with you every step of the way._

Will tilts his head to the side, glancing at his companion and subconsciously mirroring his posture.

Even with the disadvantage of not knowing what Hannibal Lecter _wanted_ , that didn’t mean Will had to dance to _this man_ ’ _s_ whims. If Will made the decision, it would be in his terms. He had seen a glimpse of what was behind the veil. He knew of the power in names and its ability to define.

_I name you, devil._

And Will was absolutely certain that the lurking _darkness_ in Hannibal Lecter’s gaze would deliver.

Maybe he should notify Jack to be on the look-out for the next Ripper victims.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

When Will awoke the next morning, he had a moment of disorientation when he blinked his eyes open to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling with the feeling of _extremely_ _soft_ cushions and pillows surrounding him. It took him a panicked moment to remember that he was in Hannibal’s guest room and had not, in fact, been kidnapped or relocated to another room in the hospital.

He took the moment to appreciate a dreamless sleep not induced by drugs.

And then he went to the en suite bathroom— _how pretentious can you get?_ —to shower before remembering he had not brought a change of clothing. Totally excusable because Hannibal was insistent about this weird, on the spot _slumber party_. But then that left him with the choice of going naked or wearing his clothes from yesterday (and the day before that because he ran out of clothes to change in. He hadn’t thought he won’t be home for _another_ day).

Will actually contemplated going naked before opening the closet door and almost sighing in relief to see a neatly folded pile of clothes.

In his grogginess in the evening, having been too exhausted than he had expected, he remembered Hannibal saying something about the clothes. He was grateful enough for them now that he didn’t even hesitate to put them on, pushing down his embarrassment at having to borrow _clothes_. Besides, it was Hannibal’s fault anyway.

He didn’t bat an eye at the dress shirt and slacks but felt his lip twitch at the notable absence of a tie, vest, or suit jacket in favor of a jumper. It hadn’t been a secret that Will won’t even bother with them.

The clothes were a bit loose on some parts but not too much that it would be noticeable. Hannibal, after all, was generally broader and probably an inch taller. Will suspected everything the man wears are tailor made at this point.

Picking up the haphazardly folded pile of his own dirty clothes, Will hesitantly padded through the bedroom and then out into the hallway where he briefly looked around, trying to remember the path they walked last night.

Thankfully enough, the hallway didn’t have any complicated turns and Will was able to find his way easily. Considering that it was half-past seven in the morning—according to the wall clock in the guest bedroom, and _by_ _God_ it was so early how was he awake already?—Will decided to check the kitchen first to look for his host.

Will passed by a lot of rooms that he didn’t bother to figure out the purposes of— _were there two drawing rooms?—_ on his way to his intended destination, thereby crossing them out of the list of places he would check in case Hannibal wasn’t in the kitchen.

It seems he made the correct decision because as soon as he was close enough, Will caught whiff of the smell of brewing coffee. His nose must have its preference because he only noted the sweet smell of pancakes or something similar when he was at the doorway.

Will remained at the threshold, hesitant now that he has seen Hannibal. The doctor wore what could have been the most casual thing Will saw him wear, and although not as severe as wearing a shirt and jeans—Will doubted the man possessed something like those—it was still a bit disconcerting to see. Will wasn’t sure if he liked the relaxed and decidedly informal air that borders on _domestic._

It was _disturbing_.

“Good morning, Will.” He was broken out of his musings by the call of the doctor, who paused briefly in his task of arranging a plate. “I was just about to come and get you.”

“Oh, uh, yes.” Will manages to respond, feeling ill at ease at the mixed emotions he was getting. “Good morning to you too, doctor- ah, Hannibal.”

“There’s no need to remain at the doorway,” Hannibal’s lip twitched even as his voice remained even. “The kitchen is hardly going to attack you.”

 _And what of the man in the kitchen?_ Will lets out a breath instead. “I’ll just get in your way.”

“If you feel so,” Hannibal stood up straight and wiped his hands on a dish towel. “You could help me carry these into the dining room.”

Will nodded then paused. “You don’t happen to have…” He pointedly looked at the bundle of dirty clothes he was clutching. “…a bag?”

“Ah,” Hannibal had a look of consideration on his face. Will had the sneaking suspicion he was debating whether to burn the clothes or not. “One moment please.” And then he passed by Will.

Choosing not to follow the doctor—more out of petty revenge than anything—Will let his head fall on the doorpost with a grunt.

The memories of the past day, _month_ , rushed through him, dragging with it the veritable emotional suppression and roller-coaster that was bound to crash into him.

He wasn’t sure how to handle this certain _clarity_ to everything. Maybe if he was in Wolf Trap with his dogs piled around him sharing their utter warmth and comfort and _dog hair_ , Will could have a better grasp on it. But he wasn’t in Wolf Trap, his dogs weren’t with him, and instead he’s in this mausoleum with Hannibal Lecter, who just so happened to be the cause of this breakdown.

“Will?” Hannibal was suddenly in front of him— _again_. “Is there something wrong?”

Will blinked and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “No, no. Just- the past few days are catching up to me.”

“I see,” A small laundry bag was handed to him and Will put his clothes inside before putting it down for now. Hannibal had the grace to avoid commenting on his state of mind. “Perhaps breakfast would lighten up your mood.”

Will doesn’t offer a response but followed Hannibal into the kitchen and then the dining room, carrying their plates in assistance. He set them down where the utensils were neatly arranged before taking his seat at the right of Hannibal’s own.

“Something light and easy to start our day,” Hannibal said as he brought in freshly brewed coffee. “ _Blinis_ , sometimes referred to as _Blitzes_ , served with smoked salmon and crème fraîche. The recipe I used is a variation of the traditional Russian dish.”

The dish was perfectly garnished and Will was satisfied to see that nothing was out of place despite his inexperienced assistance of carrying the plates. It would have been a pity and a low-key guilt would take place.

They ate in silence, Will barely stopping himself from inhaling the coffee. The atmosphere was genial and comforting compared to what they had last night. It was pure _bliss_.

“Before I forget,” Then Hannibal opened his mouth to ruin it. No, not really, Will was just feeling a _slight_ animosity towards the man. “I was going to return this to you but certain issues arose and it simply slipped my mind.”

Hannibal stood up from his seat and retrieved a notebook from one of the drawers. A _very_ familiar leather bound notebook. And then Will was overtaken by a tugging _insistence_ to take it away and hide it like a greedy little guard. But then his senses came back to him and _why is it that his mind is still doing things that didn’t make any sense?_

“Shouldn’t you have returned it to Abigail?” Will managed to say. “It _should_ be hers- or with her.”

“It hasn’t crossed my mind until now,” The look of puzzlement was clear on Hannibal’s face before it was washed away, leaving a carefully blank mask in its wake. “Tell me, Will, why would you rather return it to Abigail? Wouldn’t it make more sense to send it over to Jack?”

 “For them to do what?” Will felt his own brow furrow. There was something… _strange_ going on and yet there was _nothing_ Will could think of that would cause it. “We’ve found Abigail’s brothers. There’s no need to give that journal over for forensics to poke and prod.”

“I…see.”

Will took the journal in his hands, feeling once again that strange _tingle_ and he quickly put it in with his clothes. He resolved to return it to Abigail as soon as possible.

“I think we should go,” Will broke their pensive silence. “Abigail would want to spend time with her brothers as early as possible.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

When they arrived at Port Haven, Will elected to stay behind at the parking lot instead of going with Hannibal to sign off Abigail’s permits. It was too early for him to see any kind of facility that deals with health. And although the psychiatric facility aimed to have a more home-y aesthetic, Will wasn’t sure he wanted to see the patients.

So here he was, sitting inside Hannibal’s Bentley with the engine running and feeling guilty at having to waste gas and battery. He couldn’t exactly roll the window down. The chill in the outdoor air would have ruined something inside the luxurious car. He could have stayed outside to wait but Hannibal was adamant that he stay somewhere with cover. Apparently, bare trees and his tweed jacket weren’t enough.

Breathing out a sigh, Will settled himself more comfortably and closed his eyes. His sleep hadn’t been disturbed by any nightmares but he was still feeling a bit tired. Maybe Hannibal had been right? His month of stay at the hospital didn’t exactly involve a lot of moving around, having been confined to bed and doped up with medicine.

He was startled away from his light doze when someone knocked on the window.

Seeing that it was Hannibal with Abigail peering curiously behind the doctor, Will rubbed his eyes and leaned over to the driver’s side to open the locks.

“Sorry,” Will muttered as soon as the doors opened. “Maybe I should have come with you.”

“Not to worry,” Hannibal responded, shutting the door beside him, the sound echoed behind as Abigail closed hers too. “We didn’t wait long. Besides, I could hardly fault you for feeling tired.”

“It’s almost nine in the morning, I shouldn’t feel this tired.”

“I would be more worried if you were suddenly active, Will.”

Will grunted in answer and dismissed the man, turning his attention to an amused Abigail. “Good morning Abigail.”

“Good morning Mr. Graham,” Her lips were tilted up in a smile. “How are you feeling today?”

“You sound awfully like Hannibal,” Will let indignation seep into his voice, offering a twitch of his lips at the raised eyebrow he received from said doctor. “But I’m fine. How about you? You’d be able to see your brothers again.”

“Better,” And Will certainly believed that. “ _Thank you._ ”

Rendered silent by the utter _gratitude,_ Will shrugged, knowing what she was grateful about but feeling that he didn’t quite deserve it. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“Mr. Graham,” The stern quality in the girl’s voice drew Will short. “People don’t even know my brothers exist, I _know_ the FBI didn’t believe them too.  Out of _them_ you were the only one who did. That counts better than suddenly running into them.”

Will opened his mouth to refuse, to say _something_ because he really did not deserve her respect or gratitude. But then he saw the _look_ Hannibal gave him through the mirror and shut his mouth, huffing in defeat. Instead, his attention turned to something else as his leg collided with the car door.

Pulling out the black leather-bound journal from the door pocket where he placed it so that it won’t be forgotten, Will turned as much as he could with the seatbelt restricting his movements and extended it to Abigail.

“We should probably give this back to you.”

“Oh,” Abigail took it with gentle hands. “Thank you. Where did you keep it?”

Now yes. Where _did_ he keep it? Will was sure Abigail would be angry at him if he told her he lost it only for Hannibal to find it. He didn’t even know how the doctor got his hands on the journal.

“It was with me for safekeeping,” Hannibal cut in without seeming as if he covered for Will. “Fortunate, really. You would have had to wait longer if Will didn’t let me keep it when he was at the hospital.”

Objective done at the satisfied silence from Abigail, Will settled back into his seat and leaned his head on the window, watching the scenery pass by. His mind soon became groggy and his eyelids became harder and harder to pry open as he blinked.

Abigail suddenly spoke up. “Where’re we headed to?”

“Fairfax, Virginia,” Hannibal’s voice flitted through his ears. “Although we will have to stop by Quantico. We have quite a ride ahead of us.”

And then Will simply stopped listening, not fighting anymore against the arms of Morpheus that reached out to him.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

By the time they arrived at Fairfax, it was way past noon.  Baltimore wasn’t exactly close to Quantico and Quantico still wasn’t close to Fairfax.

They had a quick lunch at some upscale, casual restaurant Hannibal chose. If it were up to Abigail and Will—which, clearly, it wasn’t—a quick drive-thru at the local McDonald’s would have been fine but again, they were riding in Hannibal’s car. It was simply a matter of who has the power to choose and bulldoze over spoken opinions with grace.

It could have been worse. Like some fine dining, classy restaurant that served dishes small enough even a homeless person would refuse. Still, the waiter’s weird looks sent their way made him uncomfortable.

“Here we are.”

Will was snapped out of his daze just as Hannibal pulled over at an empty parking space. Turning his attention outside, Will took his first look at where they were.

The Fairfax County Juvenile Detention Center and Less Secure Shelter was a large compound that—at least publicly—allows up to 77 tenants from both genders equally. It was…pretty enough on the outside. With classic American brick-patterned walls, tinted windows, well taken-care-of plant life, and an interesting lack of stories. There was niggling curiosity that any other civilian would have in the face of a prison.

Through his years as a police officer, Will has never been inside a juvenile detention center. Not that he _could_ , mind you, because his line of work leans more towards investigation and taking down rather than detainment. It wasn’t something that could easily be assigned to you. These centers _do_ require certain standards.

Will observed Abigail as they made their way to the main building. Her face was blank but underneath all that, Will could see an excited gleam on her eyes. Despite her efforts to keep control of herself, to the trained eyes of Will and someone like Hannibal, she seemed a few moments from skipping and humming in delight.

Then it was Will who had to control his own expression. Her tangible happiness, something that was palpable and bubbled over her skin, was infectious.

The woman in the reception counter stared at them with raised eyebrows.

“Parents?” She asked, her voice inflected with some sort of disapproval. “No wonder your child ended up in here.”

Will opened his mouth to respond— _he didn’t have a child—_ but pursed it instead, looking at the carefully blank expression of Hannibal. And then he stared into the woman, wondering why she would comment like that.

_Ah._

“No, sorry,” Will faked the pleasantness in his voice as much as he can. “We’re with the FBI, actually.”

The woman’s expression changed completely, scowl giving way to surprise before a flirtatious grin curved over her boldly painted lips. Will had to consciously stop himself from baring his teeth.

 _Distasteful_. Humans have broken a lot more laws from the Ten Commandments than an outdated and _replaced_ proclamation from the third book in the Bible.

Bedding another man is nothing compared to bedding a dead body.

At least now he knew why that waiter in the restaurant was giving them weird looks.

“Is that so?” Her voice a purr that must have sounded fine for other men but just grated on his nerves. “Well, let me get your names and I.D.s then I’ll look it up in our records—”

Hannibal cut in at the pause, “That would be lovely.”

To the woman’s credit, she recognized the clipped tone Hannibal used and went to work, accepting their temporary badges. Then she asked who they were going to visit and was only slightly surprised to know they were there for not one, but two children.

“What about her?” The woman pointed at Abigail and Will sighed through his nose at the woman’s continued tactlessness.

“She’s the legal guardian of the children we’ll be visiting.”

“I’m sorry but visitation hours are only in the evenings.”

“Alright,” Will massaged his temples, wishing he had brought a bottle of aspirin with him. This was a lot more _tiring_ than it should be. “We have authorization to bring her with us.”

Along with a warrant for his and Hannibal’s presence in the center, as well as the temporary authorization of making Abigail the legal guardian of her brothers whenever she’s outside, Alana had also slipped them a note of some kind that would allow Abigail’s presence with them. It was all sketchy but the document _did_ seem official enough although it was to be treated as a last resort.

The woman took the document and glanced through it before nodding and placing it down with other files.

“It seems everything is in order,” Her voice took in a more professional tone that showed them why she managed to keep her job. “Purses and bags are asked to be put in your car. You can’t give the children _anything_ —that includes money and food. They are well-provided for in their stay here. Hostile, disruptive, or argumentative visitors will be asked to leave immediately. As today is a school day, we will have to ask you to wait for a bit so that they can be pulled out from their lessons.”

They all nodded and the woman stood up from her chair and pointed at the door leading inside.

“The visitation areas are beyond that door. Someone will lead you into the contact visitation area. Please make yourselves comfortable as you wait. Also, visitors are not allowed beyond the visitation area and the lobby.”

Following her directions, the group of three found themselves led by an officer through the stalls with small windows and a telephone that allow parents to talk to their confined children. It was empty and Will wondered if any of the other Lost Boys would have anyone to visit them. It would have been horrible, knowing that no one would visit you because you _killed_ _them._

And just as Will knew from similar cases, their relatives wouldn’t really be all that happy with them. He’d seen it happen before.

A part of Will feels so _sorry_ for them. Another part thought that they deserved the loneliness.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The room they were led into was just as cold and dispassionate as the stalls. There were three plastic chairs to a table so they had to push together two tables so that their group would be accommodated. The officer who led them in stood off to the other side of the room, standing rigid and vigilant.

Hannibal and Will sat beside each other so that Abigail can seat at the head, leaving the two other adjacent seats free. It wasn’t ideal, but Will did remember Abigail’s insistence of not separating her brothers. He just had to keep himself from looking too intimidating while he sat in front of one of the boys.

Will found himself asking, “Is there… anything else we should know?”

They weren’t here for interviews or interrogation and his social aptitude wasn’t good enough with adults, what more if he talked to children? He shouldn’t have went with them. Alana would have been a better person to have instead of him.

“Not really,” Abigail chirped. Well, she certainly is _a lot_ lighter. Then something in her expression —Will wasn’t sure if it was her smile or her eyes or the twitch in her eyebrows—softened. “You’d be fine, Mr. Graham.”

Hannibal threw in his input, “Perhaps telling us what to expect would alleviate Will’s anxiety?”

“Oh, yes,” The teenager sounded amiable to the suggestion. “They are—children, I guess. But don’t treat them like that. Harry doesn’t like it and Marvolo would get angry.” She trailed off, looking lost in thought. “I think it would be better if you just find out yourselves.”

Well, it was better than nothing, Will guessed. He felt his anticipation build, remembering the oddity that the Hobbs twins presented just the day before. For a long time, they remained shadows that existed with certainty, slipping through the system just as easily as they were brought in.

Will wondered if here, too, they would slip through.

He doubted that.

The doors opened and the object of his thoughts entered.

For a moment, Will forgot himself and met the gaze of the youngest Hobbs. For a moment, he was back in the bureau and staring at those same eyes behind a one way mirror. Then he remembered they were in a different place and the gaze was _searing_ without anything between them.

_Who are you? Why are you here?_

Those eyes _burned_ , staring _deep into his soul, baring him for the world to see_.

“Abby!”

Then it was broken and Will’s last thought was that the green was flecked with red before he snapped back into himself.

Will tried hard to control his breathing, hands clenched under the table.

“Hello Harry, Marvolo,” Abigail greeted as Harry—Hadrian, the youngest—bounded over to the chairs, commandeering the one closest to Abigail and in front of Hannibal, leaving Marvolo—Thomas, apparently—to the one in front of Will. “How are you? Do they treat you well?”

“Yes,” Thomas—Marvolo, Tom—responded, voice smooth and disconcertingly similar to Hannibal’s tone. “We have only been here for a day after all.”

“They even let us have the same room!” Hadrian’s cheery disposition was conflicting to the _something_ in his eyes.

“Is that so?” Abigail looked indulging and Will was struck by how _different_ she is with them.

Hadrian nodded and then his attention was abruptly on him and Hannibal.

“Who are you?”

Will stopped breathing for a second, the voice, the sound of _curiosity_. Why did it sound familiar?

_Why are you here? Leave—_

“These are Doctor Lecter and Mr. Graham.”

Shaking off the confused haze that came with the sense of vertigo, Will forced his attention back to the conversation.

“They were the ones you were talking about?” Thomas queried. At Abigail’s nod, he turned to the two of them, red—with green?—eyes gleaming. “It’s nice to meet those who helped our _sister_.”

Hadrian turned to Thomas with a scowl. “You’re not _exactly_ being nice, Tom. Would you rather I call you _Voldemort_.”

Tension rose between the two and Will looked to Abigail to see what she would do. Instead of looking worried, she was glaring at Thomas but otherwise remained in her seat. And not a minute later, Hadrian broke the connection first and turned to them, smile bright but eyes gleaming with satisfaction that would look at home with Thomas’ smirk.

“It’s nice to meet you Doctor Lecter, Mr. Graham.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet the two of you as well,” Hannibal replied, his expression not telling of what he thought. “Abigail has mentioned many things.”

“Did she?” Thomas’ tone was dangerous, making Will narrow his eyes.

Then Hadrian cut in, voice sharp, “Did Abby tell you that Tom is a bastard?”

“ _Harry_.”

The green-red eyed boy flinched and changed the subject. “How long will we be here?”

“I don’t… really know.” Abigail sent a questioning glance and Will shrugged. There wasn’t a date for their trial yet. “But you’ll be able to look after each other until then.”

“Of course,” Thomas replied.

“Doctor Lecter,” Hadrian called and Hannibal turned his attention to the boy.

“Yes?”

“What kind of doctor are you?”

“A psychiatrist,” was the prompt reply, and Will knew the doctor heeded Abigail’s advice. “I figure out a way to help my patients by conversing with them.”

The green-red eyed boy tilted his head to the side in an inquisitive manner. “Then why did you stop being a surgeon? Isn’t that easier than having to listen to people complaining about their day?”

_How did he know that?_

“Oh, was I wrong? Doctor Lecter looked like a surgeon to me. He has very steady hands.”

“Quite astute of you,” Hannibal had a twitch in his lips that could be considered a smile if you looked at it correctly. “Yes I did serve a time as an emergency room surgeon. Being a psychiatrist proved to be tedious at times but I have disappointed families one time too many. It was simply a matter of losing a life at your hands much more than you wanted to.”

And Will could have laughed right then and there at the blatant lie.

“Lies would only go so far, _Doctor_ _Lecter_.” It was Thomas Hobbs who spoke, rendering the room silent.

And the matching _gleams_ on their eyes were telling.

 _They knew_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)Came from Maurice Natanson’s book (although I think it’s a compilation?) of Essays in existentialism and phenomenology. I kind of just paraphrased it so I felt the need to put this footnote.
> 
> Blitzes are traditionally served during Užgavėnės, the Mardi Gras in Lithuania. I am being slightly cruel to Hannibal because he’s annoying to work with.
> 
> *I tried to make it as close to real juvenile delinquency situation as possible (still, this is fiction and bound to be incorrect sometimes) but one thing I am very unsure of is where, exactly, should their Court be. They were caught in North Carolina (and convicted of crimes throughout different states) but then the case is under the FBI, which is in Virginia (accrd. to canon timeline, but I think it’s now in Washington?). For the sake of this story, I used Virginia rather than Carolina but does anyone know where they really should be under the jurisdiction of? Fucking America and their states and their different fucking policies.  
> **So uh, that thing with Abigail’s authorization and Hannibal and Will’s permit to be in the juvie. I’m pretty sure I made that up. In the real Fairfax JDC (yes it’s real, I don’t claim creative license over the property or name but what happens inside in this fic is purely imagination) only parents and legal guardians are allowed and visitation hours are in 7:30pm-8:00pm during Sundays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.  
> ***Did you know Virginia doesn’t have an age limit when it comes to who can be tried as an adult? I think California only allows those 14 and up to be tried as adults. 
> 
> I AM NOT AMERICAN SO I DON’T KNOW THESE THINGS WITHOUT MIGRAINE INDUCING RESEARCH. And totally stereotyping some things. Also, I'm a minor, I know next to nil about alcohol.
> 
> Anyways, hope you liked it so far and haven’t decided that this is trash yet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah look an update! Sorry for the long wait, the real world slaps you sometimes. Big thanks to everyone who took the time to comment as well as leave kudos.
> 
> It's majorly unedited because I felt so fucking lazy.

They knew. They knew _something_ and Will can make his guesses. Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs are, after all, _Hobbs’s_. Nothing can ever be simple with them, can it? It doesn’t matter that they’re not _blood_ , Hobbs is dearly proud of his boys.

Will didn’t bother hiding his reaction, feeling his muscles tense and coil in apprehension. He glanced beside him, gauging out _what is happening_.

Hannibal sat, rigid and tall and more than a little bit _menacing_ , spilt-blood eyes gleaming with a darkness Will couldn’t name. He could hear the wheels turning and the cogs spinning as the deafening silence grew. It was a tension that threatens to suffocate, to make people run away with their tails between their legs.

A tension that would have crushed Will before now.

And then Will relaxed his body, leaning back on the uncomfortable plastic chair and _watched_.

This isn’t his to deal with. And while some part of him knew he had to do something— _and what does he even do in a situation like this?_ —it didn’t change the fact that Will would be affected one way or another.

_In for a penny, in for a pound._

Maybe this was why right hand men and servants don’t do anything when their King is accused of crimes.

 _King_. No, Hannibal most certainly isn’t a king. He is a creature of utter control, of _stillness_ and _darkness_ that Will sometimes doubted the man has ever been anything else but _this_.

But to be found out and claimed a liar by _children_. He almost laughed at how ridiculous their current situation is.

“Pardon?”

And, _oh,_ to leave Hannibal with only one word to say. Will nearly applauded these two boys.

“I’m sorry Doctor Lecter,” Thomas suddenly blurted out, seemingly almost against his will. The profiler watched, fascinated and confused as the boy snapped his mouth shut, red-green eyes wide and _burning_.

“I’m sorry, Doctor Lecter,” He repeated, this time drawled and almost mocking, his slip brushed aside. To other people, it might have seemed as if he merely corrected himself, but to Will? To Will it was _different_. “Was I not clear enough? We don’t like being lied to.”

Curious, Will slid his gaze to the younger twin, finding the boy’s lips pursed and arms crossed. Will stared, puzzled, trying to read the situation and finding that things didn’t add up. He was missing something. Something _big_ and which stared at him in the face, taunting and laughing because _Will just couldn’t see it._

It was _right_ _there_ , he knows— _and feels and yearns_ —and it frustrated him.

“No one likes being lied to,” Hadrian agrees in a small voice, very much different from before. “I’m sorry Doctor Lecter.”

 _For what?_ Will wanted to know. Because the only things that make sense right now are Abigail’s wide, fearful eyes and Hobbs’ smug smile.

“I understand,” Hannibal canted his head ever so slightly, an action that could mean absolutely _anything_. In this moment, Will wished he had looked _closer_ just to spare himself being this blind. “I, myself, find it hard to like people who believe in pulling deceptions a necessity.”

“Oh, no, Doctor Lecter,” Thomas responded with a cold smile. “Wouldn’t it be hypocritical to say that? Deceptions _are_ a necessity.”

Hadrian grew tense beside his twin, expression stoic and an emotion simmering behind green-red eyes.

“ _Tom._ ”

Suddenly, the air wasn’t as heavy anymore. Will subtly took in a deep breath, not even realizing how heavy the atmosphere had been until Hadrian spoke, almost in reproach.

The arctic cold of Thomas Hobbs’ gaze turned from Hannibal, pausing briefly on Will, and then settled on Hadrian. Red-green and green-red met, the two falling through a conversation that spoke of deep connection.

Will didn’t believe in ‘psychic bonds’ any type of twins had. If one twin could predict the other, it was merely because they’ve grown by each other’s side; known the way each other acts, speak, and sometimes think. Best friends were known to do it as well.

Such actions are characteristic in the form of wide gestures to minute twitches that, from an observer’s view, can sometimes be interpreted as well.

But _this._

There was _nothing_ Will could glean from their blank faces.

Will watched as seconds ticked by, not intending to break the uneasy silence that once again fell over them as they each retreated to their minds.

“I think,” Hadrian spoke as he and Thomas blinked at the same time, turning their heads. “We should leave now.”

The stretch of silence didn’t seem to affect the children even if the stretch was intentional.

“Yes, we’ve out-stayed our welcome,” Will finally spoke up, not bothering with using more proper words and glanced at Hannibal with a raised eyebrow as the man merely blinked innocently at him. “It was nice meeting you Hadrian, Thomas.”

“Call me Harry, Mr. Graham,” Hadrian—Harry—grinned at him and Will didn’t make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes. He didn’t try to wonder at the abrupt change of atmosphere. This meeting has already proved its own brand of oddity.

“Marvolo.” The older twin curtly continued.

“Alright,” Will tried to smile at them but noticeably failed at Marvolo’s quirked eyebrow so he dropped it. “We’ll see you again sometime next week.” He directed the last part to Abigail and almost took it back when she looked downtrodden.

“Unfortunately, we cannot pull Abigail from where she is staying for more than a day in a week,” Hannibal explained, surprising Will at the rather… _congenial_ reaction. Then again, Will knew of the many layers to this man, he should probably be more surprised if the doctor became angry. “And a chaperone must always be with her.”

The message was sent and then understood by everyone.

No one missed the cold smirk on Thomas Hobbs’— _Marvolo’s_ —lips, especially not Will.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“What do you think of them?” Will needn’t specify who ‘them’ refers to.

Their ride back to Baltimore had been spent skirting around that particular topic, none of them willing to tackle it, especially Abigail. It had been awkward, to say the least, and at the same time nerve wracking. Her fear was too obvious for Will not to mind and had kept his mouth shut despite his curiosity.

But now that they’d dropped her off at Port Haven, that morbid _want_ to know reared its head. Will wouldn’t say he _knew_ Hannibal Lecter—or the Ripper, for that matter—but if there was one thing he was so sure of in their short relationship, it was that Hannibal Lecter is a master at what he does.

Where else would that confidence—that self-assurance and arrogance come from?

Arguably, Will could claim Hannibal to be a perfectionist, the doctor having a standard that was almost impossibly high. And to Will’s father’s simpler and wiser words, ‘that man is an ass’. A horribly brilliant, charming ass, and Will is hard-pressed to find a way out of his influence.

And then to see him trip over a twelve-minute-nothing meeting with two children? There’s bound to be an interest in that.

 _How does it make you feel?_ Will wanted to ask but refrained himself from doing so. No need to sound mocking.

“They… were not what I had expected.”

And to hear it didn’t make it any less perplexing. Maybe he shouldn’t be feeling so incredulous because let’s face it, even Will was left entirely bewildered. He had known there was _something_ about those boys ever since he laid eyes on them, maybe even expected it to some point considering Abigail. And yet it’s still different somehow.

Like there was an unbalance. A shift. As if there was something _wrong_.

“Expect the unexpected,” Will commented, sinking down his seat at the passenger side. “Never thought I’d ever see the wisdom in it.”

“Your line of work can be considered the epitome of the wisdom of those words, as would any other profession. Humans can be rather unpredictable when dealt with as a whole,” was Hannibal’s reply and the lightness in his tone told of his intentions. “But nevertheless, Hadrian and Marvolo Hobbs are rather peculiar.”

Will chose not to comments on the first part of his statement. “Because they can sense your lies?”

“Because their connection to each other is unique,” Hannibal paused, gathering his thoughts. “They seem to have a deep bond, to the point of physical intimacy and co-dependence. And yet there is animosity between them.”

“Sibling rivalry, maybe? I hear it’s good character building.”

Hannibal didn’t answer and Will glanced at him. The doctor’s gaze was turned onto the road, perhaps concentrating on the drive. As if feeling Will’s eyes on him, Hannibal darted a glance that Will avoided, pretending to be absorbed by the passing hi-way.

“A contrast, Will,” Hannibal elucidated, “I must admit that my knowledge of twins is not as great as in other fields, having been much more interested in the singularity of an individual. However, twins, even separated as they were reared, would have showed similarities, physical appearances aside.

Their affection for each other may wane, yet biological factors will remain similar. It is a wonder to see such intimacy and distance at the same time.”

Will stilled, breaking his faux attention from the passing scenery to look at the doctor in consideration.

_A contrast?_

It was only now, an opportunity to actually stop and mull it over without having to think on his feet and/or lie through his teeth, did Will notice it. Idly scratching at his cheek, Will thought that, yes, a contrast would be a good way of putting it. Not good enough, but for now it was suitable. It gave him a word to use other than _something_.

From the short time he was in their presence—not behind a one-way mirror that did as much good as onion skin paper—Hadrian and Thomas Hobbs are the opposite of one another. Where one is smiles and good cheer, the other is sullen and cold. Where the other is expressive, the other is in control. They were so… _unlike_ that mixing oil and water would seem easier.

And yet they are familiar— _intimate, deeply entwined_ —with each other. Will had seen it in their coordinated movements, almost like a dance—a performance, a rehearsed show of fluidity, covering each other up. They are together in unity but they are not the same— _no, not the same, we are—_

“I can certainly see their… _closeness_ ,” Will replied, closing his eyes, suddenly feeling tired. “And the… rift, shall we say. There’s still _something_ I can’t quite put my finger on. A bigger piece of the puzzle.”

“The frame to hold the picture.”

“It’s not just the frame anymore,” His sigh covered up a yawn. “I realize it now. I’ve never had the pieces ordered correctly—I don’t _think_ I ever did collect the right parts. Or maybe I did, I just lost them with many other pieces.”

The silence that followed was contemplative. Will watched the street lights flashing by, eyelids heavy. He sighed again, biting back another yawn, and shifted his position so that he was slouched more comfortably.

It was dark outside with only the street lights illuminating the way. Passing cars were scarce and Will was left to watch the railings and occasional trees as they sped by. Looking at it with lethargy was enough to make it feel surreal, as if he was only in a dream. He half expected to see the stag-like creature appear but was relieved— _disappointed_ —that it didn’t.

He tried to turn his head but found that he couldn’t move. Instead of panicking, Will closed his eyes.

And woke up with a gasp, breath shallow and heart beating a mile a minute, in his bed in Wolf Trap.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Winston stared him down, making Will wonder what he had done to earn the dog’s scrutiny. He was still tired and confused even after that hot shower and shucking himself into warm and dog hair covered clothes, sparing a moment to try to remember how he was changed into boxers and shorts for the night.

The last day’s events were a bit iffy whenever he jogs his memory, like having to recall one of his dreams—there but not quite there either.

Furiously rubbing the towel at his hair, Will padded over to the kitchen, briefly pausing as he passed by the telephone. The red button was lit up. He stared at it oddly, trying to recall if he had it upgraded to support voicemail. He might have, though it was rarely used before, if at all. Shrugging, Will continued on his way.

Coffee first, anything else later.

The pack trailed after him and it was only with years of practice that he made it through without tripping on anyone, though feeling as if he was dragging his feet.

A mug of coffee in hand (and mouth) later, Will finally pressed the button to play the voicemail, wondering at how weird it is that this is the first time he has ever had to use it, as far as he can recall.

There was a slight crackle before the message started.

_“Good morning Will._

_I do hope you are feeling well today. You were rather out of sorts when I drove you to your home. I’ve talked to Uncle Jack about keeping you off work for another week though I rather doubt it will prevent him from calling for you. I won’t stop you if you feel the need to go back teaching but I do ask of you to rest for the day. Doctor Sutcliffe was an old colleague of mine and he advises a few more days of recuperation._

_Do call back when you have the time. Also, I’ve left a paper bag of food for you in the refrigerator. I heard your and Abigail’s opinions on it quite enough.”_

The loud beep signaled the message’s end.

Will stood there, mug of steaming coffee at hand, bewilderedly staring at the telephone and feeling quite ridiculous for doing so. Hannibal’s voice certainly wasn’t what he expected to hear from it. Although it did explain how he was home— _did Hannibal_ change _his clothes for him? Or did he manage it himself?_ —the message was still so out of the blue.

Did the doctor do this to all of his patients? Colleagues? Or— _God forbid_ —friends?

And why— _does he need to question it so much?_

Granted, playing—or at least a lurid, _dangerous_ version of it—with Hannibal Lecter as the one behind everything is not good for anyone, much less Will’s barely returned sanity (that he doubted he actually had. Sutcliffe said so himself, Will somehow drew a long stick when it came to suffering the effects of encephalitis and so had managed to skip the tragedy of seeming and feeling much more unhinged than he already is. Unfortunately, the treatment for the abruptly grave inflammation of his brain didn’t get rid of Hobbs and Boyle altogether.)

If Will wanted to be honest with himself right now—which is actually something he wanted to do for a change—the tiny spark of excitement at having someone so dangerous hold his attention interested him more than the suffocating suspicion and anger— _and fear that he would lose himself on the way._

_The cold, familiar cobwebs of the spindly hands of dread and anxiety spun over him, silk soft and comforting and foreboding, leeching off—_

What was he talking about? He had spent his career in diving into the minds of people deserving nothing less than the death sentence,  had waded through the darkened barbs of depravity and managed to come back to himself— _not all there and patched up with something that isn’t him—_ relatively unscathed.

This thing with Hannibal and the Hobbs’s shouldn’t be all too different.

Yes, Will would just have to convince himself of that because otherwise he refused to think where this would end.

By the time he moved from his stock-still position, what was left of his coffee had gone cold. He finished it with three big gulps, grimacing at the grit that was left of the cheap instant coffee he stocked in his house.

Now, Hannibal said something about food. Fast food take out if Will made the correct assumption.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

In the end, Will did heed the advice of resting for the day. He had a lot to make up for with his pack and Will happily spent his time playing and lounging with his dogs, basking in the distinct smell of wet dog and _home_. They would have made a trip to the stream if Will didn’t reel at the thought of that trek.

If organizing the clatter he had left in his home made him feel tired enough for a nap, a trek through the woods wouldn’t be a great idea. Besides, it was _freezing_ outside. He quite preferred the joint efforts of a heater and a pile of dogs around him than the biting cold. He really did miss his pack even though he spent majority of his stay in the hospital unconscious or delirious.

The day and afternoon passed in a blissful haze of warmth and comfort and the feeling of companionship.

That is, until the phone rang.

Will ignored it, burying his nose into his pillow and shifting closer to Maggie. None of them moved even as it rang for a second time. It continued to do so and Will still ignored it, though some of the dogs perked up at the incessant ringing. When it stopped, Will relaxed into the pile, sighing in contentment at the pleasant warmth that surrounded him.

In that moment, he wished— _and prayed and helplessly pleaded because he_ knew – to have this bubble last longer than it would.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Fear, Abigail supposed, was a horrible thing. It made her mind blank, her skin cold, and her heart pumping _loudly_ over her thoughts. And it was also something she was familiar with. Recently, though, it was becoming a form of comfort, something to get back to whenever her thoughts strayed too deeply into that locked space.

It didn’t hold a candle to anxiety.

If fear was horrible, anxiety was the cruel stepmother in a fairytale. It made her realize just how helpless and _weak_ she is. Maybe, in another world, she would have been stronger, more independent, fearless and courageous in protecting what was hers. But she isn’t. She knew her limits, knew when she could act out, knew what she couldn’t do.

Fear made her stronger, but anxiety made her weak. And more often than not, those two came together.

Sooner or later, she had to face it, and _knew_ that she had to move _now._ Even at the cost of her life and freedom.

She wanted to be the girl from another world, the one who was stronger and independent and fearless and _stupid_. But somehow she knew that girl never had her Harry, never had the chance to have a little brother who _she_ _loved so much she’d kill anyone who touched him the wrong way._ And just for that, she wouldn’t even think of _being_ her.

And so she smiled, pulled harder at her cunning and courage, and spoke, because that was one thing her father didn’t think of doing.

 “Hello Doctor Lecter.”

“Abigail, what a surprise.”

And her life and acquired freedom would be forfeit, but what else has she got to lose? She had her cards graciously— _weeping in joy and relief and utter terror—_ given to her; she’d play it the way she was taught. _All for her_ _family_.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Popping the bubble came in the form of Beverly Katz.

“And here I thought we were better acquaintances,” Will couldn’t help but comment as he stood on his porch, gaze at the dogs and not on the woman making her way to him. “I’d give you back your beer now.”

She was close enough for Will to see her raised eyebrow. “I’m glad to see you too Jasper.”

He sighed. “I thought I had a week.”

“Hey, if you think I like this arrangement then you’re wrong,” She stopped just before him but not onto the porch, Will felt himself relax a little. “Being a go-between is not in my job description. Besides, you did have five days.”

“You still work for your boss,” There was a slip of mocking in his tone, maybe even a bit of bitterness. “And apparently I’m still his lap dog.”

And something in her expression changed, her shoulders slouched, her stance opened up a bit, and a wan smile curved at her lips.

 _Pity_.

Will gritted his teeth. “What does he want?”

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Katz suddenly snapped, smile giving way to anger. “You think I enjoy bringing news I know would reflect badly on me? I had to convince Jack to let me handle you because I _know_ he’d been a right bastard.”

“And I didn’t _ask_ for you to do so.”

“Or what? Alana’s become a _dear friend_ and I made a promise to keep an eye on you. I _saw_ with my _own eyes_ what happened to you. I had to fucking watch you suddenly _breakdown_ and looking so _dead_ in that hospital. Can’t I be just a concerned colleague _—friend_ who actually cared?”

Will rubbed his face, exhaling hard through his nose. “I’m— _sorry_. I just don’t like how unbalanced I feel.”

“Damn right you should be,” She huffed, crossing her arms, but the slight lightening of her scowl was enough to make Will know. They needed to vent and it just so happened they did it with each other. “You still owe me for babysitting your dogs.”

“Alright,” Will called for the dogs and gestured at Katz. “Do we need to go?”

“Not really,” The change from anger and then to nonchalance surprised Will. “We’ve wrapped up the last bodies. They can wait for a few more hours.”

They made their way inside the house, Katz handing him the files before cozying up to the couch as if she owned the place.

As he opened the file, Katz started talking, “We call him the angel-maker because, you know, he makes angels out of his victims. Slept with them watching over him and all that, kind of like his _guardian angels_. I’d hate to know what kind of childhood he has if _that’s_ his idea of guardian angels.”

There was already a profile for the killer stuck in with the reports. He read it half-heartedly and becoming impressed as he read on. He was not as surprised as he should be to see Hannibal’s name on it.

“There’s already a profile,” Will said as he placed the file on the table. “What do you need me for?”

“I don’t know,” Katz shrugged as she lazily played with Winston’s wagging tail. “Jack wanted your opinion about it.”

“Well, Hannibal already had it all. I can’t really add anything else.”

“You’ll have to tell that to the bossman himself.”

Will sighed in resignation.

“Come on, after this case is done, we’ll go to that café Brian had been gushing about. I heard they serve delicious pastries. Your treat.”

He wasn’t even given a choice.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“What you did there… it wasn’t right, honey.”

Chris clutched at the handset in a white-knuckled grip. He had to consciously stop himself from reaching out to his mother’s crying face. The glass window was in the way, he didn’t need to physically feel the barrier between him and his mother any more than he already knew.

“I- I know.” His voice was shaky but, try as he might, he wouldn’t have been able to stop it.

“Then why?”

 _Why?_ Even Chris asked himself that numerous times. His mother was sobbing now and he felt guilt and shame overcome him. He had his family, had felt their love, and he almost threw it all away because he felt he didn’t get enough?

_Why?_

He just stared, unable to answer.

He wouldn’t have pulled the trigger, he knew that deep in his heart, but that didn’t stop the ghostly weight of the gun in his hands. Harry had been right. It would haunt him through day and night, weigh him down and run him ragged because he made the wrong decision.

_Why?_

With a shaking hand, he replaced the handset on its hook and left without saying a word. What would he say? _I’m sorry_ _I made a mistake? I’m sorry I tried to kill you?_

His mother was making a scene at the Other Side. He didn’t look back, afraid that the tears he was holding in would fall, afraid that he would see the accusations in his mother’s eyes. This was the first time she had visited and he wasn’t ready to see it clearly on her face.

He already knew he belonged here, where he could be kept away from his family. He had done enough damage and he was afraid that the distance between him and them would have worsened because of what he did. That was why he ran away in the first place; he felt that he didn’t belong.

The other children were looking at him. Some in contempt, others in pity. It was visitation night so a lot of them were excited while the older, more dangerous ones were irritated. He knew some would emerge from the room with beaming smiles, some with a scowl, and some like him—near tears and burning in guilt and shame.

“Hullo.”

Chris stopped and looked up warily. “Harry, Marvolo.”

“How was it?” As usual, Marvolo was mocking, his smooth, attractive—because Chris certainly wasn’t _blind_ and Eva said it often enough—features twisted in a cruel smirk.

“Yeah, how was it?” Harry had his ever present grin, arm in arm with Marvolo. “I heard your mum had to be dragged out.”

Sometimes Harry seems well-intentioned, kind even, but insults would unintentionally come out of his mouth. At first, he had doubted his and Marvolo’s relation. Marvolo had been cruel and sharp, _unnerving_ with his red eyes that scared Chris. Harry had been the first one to talk to him.

“Fine,” He responded curtly.

“You’d get out of here, you know,” Harry continued, fidgeting with the hem of their sleeves with a careless expression. “You didn’t really do anything but point that gun to your _mother._ ”

Chris wasn’t a great judge of character. In fact, he wasn’t a great judge of anything, but sometimes he was sure Harry wasn’t any different from Marvolo. That they were the same person wearing different bodies. There wasn’t any other explanation for their constant need to touch each other. They were creeps.

And somehow, they can get away with a lot of things. All because everyone was blinded.

Chris scowled at them. “Shut up.”

Harry reared back, as if hurt. “I thought we were _brothers_.”

“We’re not,” Chris scoffed. “We never had been. That woman brainwashed us.”

“Now, now,” Marvolo drawled. “There’s no need to be so angry at our _Mother_.”

“ _That Woman_ is not anyone’s mother!”

“But-” Harry’s eyes glistened with tears, hands clutching harder at Marvolo’s sleeve. “You were so _ready_ and _eager_ to shoot _your own family_.”

Chris growled, the comments rubbing at the raw wounds, “Shut up.”

“Poor Chris, feeling so _unloved_ and just wanting to find his own family—”

“I said shut up!”

“—and you found one! You had us, and you were so _eager_ to prove your loyalty to us. Why didn’t you just shoot your mother?”

Blinded by his anger, Chris tackled Harry to the ground and was nearly deafened by the scream. He immediately scrambled up, covering his ears.

“What’s going on?!”

Chris opened his eyes, not having realized he closed it, and saw Marvolo and Harry staring at him with blank looks. Then Harry’s face morphed into a pitiful expression, turning to the guard and the rest of the crowd.

“He hit me! I didn’t do anything!”

Chris wasn’t able to defend himself as the other children eagerly filled in the guards, all saying that _he_ was at fault. And when the uniformed officer turned to him with a look of dislike, Chris knew whatever he would say would be brushed aside.

“I didn’t do anything!” Chris still insisted even if he knew it would be futile. “He- he provoked me!”

He looked around, hoping to get at least some support. Surely they heard what Harry had been saying. But they were all just watching, a look of satisfaction and interest scattered around. No one would help him here.

Why would they? He was the new kid who _attempted to kill his family_. Family was practically sacred in this place, even to those who disliked theirs.

And sitting in the isolation room, Chris could only think of mocking green and red eyes that blurred into the many, many eyes of children and adults alike. In the deafening silence, their words repeated again and again, burning itself into his memory.

The accusing eyes of his mother followed him through his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to finish with Elliot Buddish but decided that it’s too much trouble to cram that in to this chapter.
> 
> Eva was the kidnapper’s name accr. to wikia.
> 
> And, oh yeah, that thing about the twins? There’s a large chance it’s true. Twin Study is a pretty big thing in the field of research. 
> 
> Did you know there was a study in the 60’s that involved separating twins after their birth and giving them to families without telling them that they had a twin? Some of you might have heard it already what with a pair writing their story (the book was titled “Identical Strangers: A Memoir of Twins Separated and Reunited”). So quick run-down of that shitshow of an experiment was that two idiots thought raising twins in separate families was the best for them (because apparently parents treat twins as if they were one person) and did it, then had the sets of twins and one triplets stalked. One idiot died and the records were sealed in Yale University until 2066. For ethical reasons. 
> 
>  
> 
> So, did this chapter satisfy? Also, the poll for Beverly Katz is still up in my ffnet profile so go ahead and vote if you haven’t already.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s short. Again. I think I’ll just keep chapters with an average of 4500 words because I always fail to reach 5k. That alright, yeah?
> 
> Anyway, I realized that there would be a better depth to Will and Hannibal’s relationship if we see things from both of their POVs. Not all but certainly at least a part. So yeah, hope I won’t disappoint with Hannibal’s POV (which is only the first part btw).
> 
> I KEEP ON FORGETTING! **THE WIZARDING WORLD IS ONLY PARALLEL TO HANNIBAL’S WORLD.** I am sorry to disappoint those who are hoping for the WW to exist in the same world as Hannibal’s but that just won’t work for this fic. I’ve dropped many, many clues in the first few chapters and I’m hoping that that’s going to help you figure out where this is going. Still, magic exists.
> 
> Disclaimer: There are parts I pulled from the script so anything recognized ain’t mine.

Hannibal watches, eyes keen and observant, as Will Graham moved through the room at a restless pace. It was not an unfamiliar action, nor, Hannibal suspects, would it be something he would be liberated a sight of. Cornered, agitated animals would resort to such actions if limited by a cage. Dear William is not, in fact, disinclined to do so as well.

“Would you care to tell me what you think of the Angel Maker?” Hannibal almost felt rueful of breaking the silence. Nevertheless, walk-in appointment or not, Hannibal must make it seem as if they had accomplished something in the span of an hour.

The profiler stilled, muscles tensed and ready to flee at its host’s notice.

Hannibal let out a quiet sigh, knowing the conundrum in Will’s mind was, by part, his fault. “I understand that there are things we must address at some point. However, I do not believe it is the time to do so yet.” He would much rather have Will work it out with few, if any, assistance. But alas, he does not take promises lightly and although begrudging in a sense, the words have been uttered and Hannibal would fulfill it.

Seconds ticked by and Hannibal patiently waited for any response from the other man. Decisions warred inside William’s head, clearly doubtful and confused. Angry, almost, that Hannibal opened the door only to close it again.

It does not affect him. Hannibal knew Will worked better under pressure—with a scene to read like a most coveted book, to watch and _become_.

Remaining relaxed on his seat, Hannibal watches as Will came to a decision, the profiler’s acceptance shown in the form of turning to face the doctor with his head canted.

“I’ll hold you to that.” The responding tone was wry; not disbelieving and yet not believing either. Truly, Hannibal is appreciative of the man’s doubt. It would not do to be so trusting. And, _ah_ , Hannibal remembers he preferred the man easily susceptible to him. “And I’ve read your profile. I think you know much more about our Angel Maker than I do at this point.”

“Opinions vary from person to person.”

Will remains silent, turning his back on the doctor and Hannibal nearly worried that he would leave. It was irrational, as Hannibal had scarcely been unsure of himself, yet the subtle tug that had insistently _pulled_ during the profiler’s absence made its self known once more. Disquieting and something he is unaccustomed to, Hannibal did not like it nor did he detest it.

Instead, he remained seated and followed the dark haired man’s movements.

The obsidian statuette of a stag caught Will’s attention and Hannibal barely twitched, as he was wont to do when patients intentionally or unintentionally touch objects they were not meant to touch.  But, Hannibal amended; Will Graham would not be his patient. Nor would he be a mere pawn. The profiler has proved his worth to be something _more_.

“He is…” Will trailed off, fingers delicately brushing on a gleaming antler. “A being given life only for it to be snatched away in a manner he perceives as cruelty. He’s transforming his victims into something that could alleviate his… pains and their transgressions. There is a kind of hope in him; something… abstract and personal in nature.”

Hannibal lets the man remain where he is, knowing that distance is Will’s way of defending himself. They are in a rather delicate stage in their relationship after all. Nonetheless, Hannibal let it be. It would be dear Will’s turn to move for now, unless other factors choose to come to play.

“And what kind of hope would this be?”

“Desperation,” Will hesitates, twitching to turn but aborting the movement. “Death. Life. He’s afraid of dying in his sleep. He feels… abandoned.”

And for a brief moment, Hannibal hesitates, pauses and _thinks_. “Ever feel abandoned, Will?” It was, perhaps, an unneeded question. Hannibal already knows the answer to that and yet feels as if he wants to _know_.

_Yes_ , Will’s expression says, but what comes out of his mouth is different.

“Abandonment requires expectation,” was the dry reply. “I’d say disappointment does as well.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“In myself, mostly.”

It was surprisingly jarring how Will had changed. Honesty, Hannibal appreciates, more so the fact that Will was letting his walls down piece by small piece. Forts, in the end, have weaknesses in their dwellers.

“Does the Angel Maker feel this way too?”

Will takes the open seat and narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “I can separate myself from others, Doctor Lecter.”

“Separation can be taken in different ways. Humans thrive in their connection with others; delight in the way other people _see_ them and recognize their cause.”

“I can see perfectly clearly.”

“Yes,” Hannibal smiles. “And that gives you leverage in _knowing_ their motives. The Angel Maker _sees_ as well.”

Will doesn’t respond immediately, slowly walking over to the vacant chair in front of Hannibal. “I know I should feel—I know I should _want_ to catch him. But I just… feel _sorry_ for him. Death isn’t kind to those expecting it.”

Hannibal regards Will with an interested expression. “Death is a merciful end to those who bear the burden of life.”

“Are we really going to argue about death and life?” Will’s eyebrow was quirked but he does not seem as upset as he sounds.

“I am merely offering my opinion to broaden your perspective.”

“You know what I think?” Will leans forward on his seat, closer to Hannibal, and shoots the doctor a look that seems like an odd combination of contempt and surety. “I think you know who the Angel Maker is.”

Hannibal was unable to mask his amusement quickly enough.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The visit with the Hobbs’s had to be put on Alana’s hands when another corpse angel was found. Hannibal wasn’t with the team this time, not able to leave on such short notice. He did have patients, after all.

The dark, dank alley way was clear of the crowds right at the mouth of the alley. The sirens of the local PD’s police cars echoed hollowly in the background as Will stared in fascination at the elevated body recently created by the Angel Maker. Printed photos could only capture so much and there was an unbelievable amount of… calmness in this scene.

Jack Crawford spoke beside him, “Why Angels?”

“He’s accepting it,” Will whispered, barely able to stop himself from moving forward.

“Uh, Jack? I think you need to see this.”

Will’s attention was drawn over to Zeller who was poking at the air on the mattress right below the body. It was a bit dark to see but the disbelieving noise that exploded from Price’s mouth was telling.

“Are those? What are those?”

The rest of Jack’s team cautiously went over to where Zeller was kneeling. “Someone got an orchiectomy cheap.”

Beverly shined her flashlight on the victim’s crotch. “Doesn’t look like the victim’s.”

“The Angel Maker?”

“He castrated himself?”

Will pursed his lips and tried not to imagine the pain. He looks around once more. “He’s not just making angels, he’s getting ready to become one. Angels don’t have genitalia.”

“I’m ready to convert to Buddhism.” Zeller sent Price an incredulous look.

“You’d have to forsake your bodily needs and practice asceticism,” Beverly shot back with a poorly hidden smirk, “I don’t think you can do it.”

Price’s affronted reply was cut off by Jack’s phone ringing that somehow everyone heard despite the loud sirens.

“Hello?”

The forensic team continued to bicker as Jack lumbered over to a corner to get as far away from the noise as possible. Will sighed and walked closer to the body, half a foot away from the mattress and the severed testicles.

He needn’t let the pendulum swing to know what happened. Instead, Will stayed rooted on the spot and looked up. At this angle, the body was silhouetted by the milky plastic sheet that spread the light and cast a subtle, almost ethereal glow. If the scaffolding wasn’t needed to keep the body elevated and the wings spread, it would have deserved its own name. _Angel of Death._

_I see in you what the others don’t_. _I see in you what they are too blind to see._

“Will.”

Will blinks and turns to Jack who had an intense scowl on his face. The man exuded an aura of anger and stress. Will subtly tilted his head to the side and watched the play of emotion on Jack’s face. There must’ve been something else bothering him now that was not there the last time he saw him. Personal matters, maybe. So Will decided that his dislike for the man should not be aired for now.

“What is it, Jack?” He made sure his tone was polite.

“The Bureau called,” Uncharacteristically, Jack seemed grim— _irked_. And Will was close to making an altered 80’s joke. _They wanted your body back_.

“Geneva Walter* escaped police custody.”

And then Will sobered up.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The motel he was staying in, thankfully, had a landline he could use. Sometimes, Will was tempted to just use his phone, but the benefit of not having to answer to every beck and call was immensely better than the few situations like this.

“ _Hello?”_

Will sighed in relief and only felt a bit bad for the distinct grogginess in Alana’s voice. He’d have to borrow a phone if Alana wasn’t at home. Even if it’s six in the morning and he very well knew Alana would still be asleep at this time. “Hey Alana, it’s Will.”

“ _Will?_ ” There was a rustle in the background before Alana continued. “ _What do you need?”_

“Can’t I call to check on you?” Because Will was still contemplating what possessed him to call Alana in the first place. It was just a feeling he had.

“ _No, not really._ ”

Will snorted. “Okay.”

“ _You’ve never called me before, Will._ ”

The receptionist was pretending to be busy and Will fidgeted with the pocket of his jacket. She was right, of course, because Will never called her even when he had his phone. It was only her who called him, never him who called her.

“Yeah, I—” Will scratched his fingers. “This really is a bit sudden.”

There was silence on the other side and Will almost put the handset down when he heard Alana sigh. “ _How is the investigation going along?”_

“Fine,” Will responded, still tensed and awkward. “Jack said we just have to wrap it up and we can go home.”

“ _You aren’t letting Jack to trample upon you again, right?_ ”

Will had to stop a smile from forming on his lips. “No. Jack’s been good. A bit stressed maybe.”

“ _I see._ ”

Something was still bothering him and he didn’t know what it was, so he wracked his brain for a topic. “So, uh, you brought Abigail for a visit?”

Alana hummed. “ _Yes. She was absolutely delighted. I can see that she’s improving with her brothers here, even if they are in prison.”_

“How are they?” Will found himself asking, curious despite himself. “The boys, I mean.”

“ _They seem to be adjusting well,_ ” She paused, then. “ _I think Hannibal’s attached_.”

Will blinked, covered the receiver of the phone, and turned to the receptionist. “Uh, can I have a bottle of water, please?”

The man shot him a dirty look but went to retrieve one.

Removing his hand from the receiver, Will spoke through a daze. “Attached?”

“ _He and Hadrian kept a constant stream of conversation,_ ” Alana let out a chuckle. “ _I’m impressed they managed to keep up with Hannibal. Even I lost track of what they were saying._ ”

“Right,” Will covered the receiver again when the receptionist came back. “I’ll pay it with the bill.” The man nodded and wrote something on the log book. Taking the bottle, Will contemplated pouring the contents on his face. He didn’t. “So what do you think of the boys?”

“ _They are… should I really be telling you this?”_

“You’re not their psychiatrist, Alana.”

“ _Well, they’re good boys. From what I’ve seen, they’re intelligent and well-adjusted. I can’t say there’s something wrong with them and if we weren’t in a visitation room, they are the typical boys their age.”_

Will remained silent.

“ _But they seem too… They look and act as if nothing happened. I’ve seen cases of kidnapped and arrested children and they’re too calm about it._ ”

“Maybe they’ve gotten over it?” Will made sure his voice sounded nonchalant even if he felt stiff. Inmates who felt calm in the face of being locked up only felt confident and calm if they knew they can leave. It didn’t matter that they were talking about children. Harry and Marvolo Hobbs have proven their peculiarity.

“ _Or they’re distracting themselves._ ”

Will doubted that. “Their mother escaped.”

“ _Mother?_ ”

Sighing through his nose and silently cursing himself for the sudden burst, Will explained the escape of the kidnapper of the Lost Boys, knowing that the JDC would be alerted. Or it would be on the news. Whichever came first. So technically, Will wasn’t breaking any rules for telling her.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Will stood alone in the morgue, sleeves folded even with the cold. Bodies were lined up on each side of him, covered in white linen to preserve their dignity. What dignity would you have left to a person who could see through your eyes?

_What is left of you?_

Nicholas Boyle stood off to the side, a silent specter as Will stared into nothing.

“You know, staring into the wall won’t make him suddenly appear. Or her.”

Will doesn’t startle, carefully looking up and onto Beverly Katz’s lab coat. “It helps keeping my mind quiet.”

“I think the moment you hear other voices in your head is the moment you should get help,” Beverly Katz’s lips twitched up as she leaned her hip on a gurney. “And you just came back from the hospital.”

Irritation flared up but Will tamped it down. “Hearing voices could be healthy too.” Even to him, his argument seemed weak.

“Will, seriously,” Beverly—it seems they’re on a first-name basis already—sighed. “Are you okay? I know it’s stupid to ask, but we’ve got each other’s backs here.”

Will shrugged, not letting himself be affected by the comment (even if a part of him reluctantly felt more relaxed). “Do I seem different?”

“Not really,” Her tone was dry. “Maybe a little. But you’ve always been a little different, even before—heck, even after—your brain was fried. Brilliant strategy, by the way, no one can tell when there’s something up with you.”

“It wouldn’t be brilliant if someone noticed.”

He saw her lips tilt up in a smile and they spent a few seconds in silence.

“How would I know if something’s up with you?” Because Will thought returning the favor only seemed fair. This _thing_ between them was new to him. His relationship with Alana certainly isn’t a great basis. Will’s on again, off again attraction to her certainly wasn’t _this_.

“You wouldn’t,” Beverly crossed her arms. “But I’d tell you if you asked me.”

And a moment seemed to pass before them, an understanding of sorts, only ended by the entrance of Jimmy Price, mouth running a mile a minute about the Angel Maker’s victims being murderers, rapists, and fake guards. Or, er, one of them being a fake guard.

Will was absolutely certain they’re not after a vigilante.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

That night, Will made his way over to Hannibal’s office.

He had no appointment, nor did he actually have a reason to be there. Will merely parked his car, turned off the engine, and stared at the wheel as if it held all the answers. The temperature outside was cold enough to be unpleasant despite his coat and Will was finding it hard to convince himself to open the door and leave the car.

It was also harder to convince himself to leave and come back when he has an appointment.

A glance at his watch told him it was nearing eight. Will drummed his fingers agitatedly.

Hannibal’s last appointments usually end at eight to eight-thirty and he leaves a few minutes after his last patient is done.

Will questions himself why he was there.

Gripping the steering wheel hard, he takes a few deep breaths.

A few minutes past eight, Will finally manages to leave his car. And then promptly stayed leaning against it, unable to convince himself to take the few steps over to the door of the building. It was like that—staring up in the dark sky and contemplating the pros and pros of just leaving—that Phyllis Crawford found him.

“Will Graham?”

Will twitches and breaks his stare at the sky to take in the person who called his name. Her skin was dark, radiant in the dimly illuminated space. She was beautiful in the way every woman that held a powerful, innate grace did. Will squints because it felt like he should know her.

Thankfully, the woman beat him to his rather rude question of _do I know you_. “I’m Phyllis Crawford. Jack told me a bit about you.”

“Enough to know my appearance?” Will shot back but not as cutting as it would usually be. This woman hadn’t really done anything to earn his ire. Her husband on the other hand… but no, Will was capable of being a mature adult.

“Enough to know that my husband has been working with you,” She replied in an almost knowing tone of voice, but not sympathetic. “Mostly, I’ve seen your pictures in a few articles.”

“Jack hasn’t told us about you.” He might have, but Will wasn’t really that close with the team to know who’s in a relationship with whom.

“I’d be surprised if he did,” Phyllis inclined her head. “We like to keep personal matters away from our jobs.”

Will studies her. “That goes both ways, doesn’t it.” It was more a statement than a question.

“It helps with the balance,” She amended but her tone told a different story.

“You’re what’s bothering him,” Will mutters in epiphany, loud enough that she hears but not understand. Jack has been stressed by something lately, and it seems to be something about his wife. Then Will tilts his head to observe her closely because this woman, clearly, was a patient of Hannibal’s. “What do you have that he is interested in?”

Phyllis misinterprets his question, her expression twisting into confusion before she responds, “I imagine it’s my beauty, like in every time he recounts how he met me.”

“I can see that,” Will doesn’t correct her but does notice how one-sided her explanation had been. Instead, he feigns a glance at his watch and fixed an apologetic look on his face. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Crawford, but it’s a bit late. The drive home would take up more time.”

“Phyllis, please, or Bella,” She sends an obligatory smile that wasn’t forced although Will could still see the stiffness in her posture. “And it was nice talking to you in person. Those articles made you sound… disturbed.”

Will tensed and forced his expression to remain as it is, barely able to bite back a more caustic remark. “Thank you for reserving judgment.”

Then Will entered his car and ignored the woman as she walked into her car and drove away.

Anger and nerves and unease crawled under his skin in a wretched, insistent buzz. He had to stop himself from scratching in the hope of peeling them off with his fingers. There was something wrong with her and what he sees made something in him bristle.

It was a little wonder why Jack would feel so discomfited with his wife like that.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Despite the tension still present between the two of them, though greatly diminished at this point, Will accompanied Jack to interrogate the wife of their main suspect. Will’s presence was not necessary but if he wants to at least try to mend this tension between them, he’d have to come back to do his consultations.

They sat opposite Emma Budish, the woman anxious and unsure why she is here. Will could try sympathizing with her, to put her at ease, but he doesn’t do that.

“Has he contacted you since you left?”

“I left him,” Her voice was shaking. “And no, he hasn’t.”

Something in Jack paused but he continued the interrogation. Will does not lose sight of the dawning. “Why did you leave?”

“Because of his cancer,” Mrs. Budish—though maybe she shouldn’t be addressed like that—had a self-deprecating, twitching smile. “Makes me sound like a horrible wife.”

Jack clears his throat subtly. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

As Mrs. Budish spoke of Elliot Budish’s inevitable disappearance from her life—and wasn’t it always because of the downward spiral of knowing you were coming close to your _death_ because of an illness—Jack was silent, still, and tense. Seeing him quite unable to continue, stuck inside his head, Will took over.

His questions were a part leading, and a part inconsequential; things he already knew.

“He died once before. Suffocated in a fire when he was a little boy. The fireman who resuscitated him said he must’ve had a guardian angel.”

Interested, Will asked, “Where did this happen?”

“A farm where he grew up.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

The farm was at the outskirts of the city, surrounded by dead grass and the heat of the sun. Will squinted, eyes trained at the barn ahead. The Local PD sent a few of their guys in addition to the officers already accompanying them.

Thankfully, Jack was able to make them stay as the two of them made their way to the dilapidated barn.

The barn doors weren’t locked, like Will would have expected, and they had no problem opening it. He didn’t bother with his gun.

What greeted them was the sight of another Angel of Death. He was hung on the rafters, wrists and wings held up by fishing lines. The light from the holes on the roof cast an illumination that made it hard to identify who it was.

Jack shined a flashlight on the Angel’s face, revealing Elliot Budish’s face. “It’s Budish?”

Will stares in both fascination and horror. “This will be the last one. He made himself—” Will cut himself off.

Pulling out his own flashlight, Will clicked it on and pointed it at the ‘wings’. Those cuts were too precise, too smooth to be self-inflicted. Walking a step closer, he squinted at the fishing lines holding the body up. There wasn’t a sign of struggle. Budish should have had at least some trouble in pulling himself up there, no matter how low. Pain would have made him unsteady.

Most of all, there was no blood. Fresh or dried, if Budish did this to himself, there should have been marks of blood.

“Jack,” Will called out, “I don’t think Budish did this to himself. At least, not alone.”

“What do you mean?” Jack’s tone was demanding, angry. Will continued to inspect the body at a certain distance, unwilling to displace anything.

“Someone helped him up there,” Will shot a look at an irritated Jack, “Even if it was his choice to die, Budish wouldn’t have been able to hang himself up there without struggle. I don’t see that kind of struggle _anywhere_.”

“So you’re telling me,” Jack took a deep breath to try to stay calm, “that there’s another killer out there that would make corpse angels? Who? His admirer?”

Will sighed and tried not to get irritated as well. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Then _look!_ ”

Shooting a glare at Jack, Will ignored him as the man barked for the team.

Soon enough, agents milled in, only a few because they were not expecting another scene. Will absently watched, more than a few of them steering clear from him, probably recognizing him. Turning his attention back onto the elevated Budish, Will took a few deep breaths to center himself.

Closing his eyes, Will let the quiet noise wash over him, and let the pendulum swing.

_He wasn’t alone._

_This man with his flaming, distorted visage would be with him. He wouldn’t have to worry about his own body now, he’d be like his creations. He’d accepted it. This is his choice._

Something changes.

_I see what you are._

_It’s inside. I’ll bring it out of you. You’ll see._

_You see me, Will, but can you see yourself?_

Will shudders and opened his eyes, blinking and closing his fingers around the air he was reaching out for.

_Can you see all of us?_

He abruptly pulled his arm back, flinching as he came back to reality. Will walked closer to Budish, scrutinized his lax expression. His death was his choice. But who really killed him?

_I know you_.

Will rubbed his face, biting back a growl of frustration.

_You know me. You just have to look._

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“The cuts were made while he’s still alive,” Price was saying, “Wound patterns match his previous victims. M.O.’s pretty much the same. Are we sure this is our guy? Because I’m pretty sure he can’t have done all of this to himself _by himself_.”

“Yep, he’s the only guy matching each and every profile,” Zeller responded as he fiddled with his clipboard, “Cancer, months of absences… that isn’t counting the match in fingerprints and blood. I am _not_ mentioning his you-know-what.”

Will watched at the sidelines as he usually does, observing the forensic team putter about around Budish’s body in the lab.

“There’s no new prints from the scene,” Beverly coined in, “Nothing recent that’s not from Elliot Budish, that is. There are a couple but those’re months old. Our new guy’s careful.”

Will blinks and decides to add his input, “New guy?”

“Well, we don’t really have anything else to call him, right?”

They continued on their tests and Will was left to his thoughts. It wouldn’t be out of the blue to assume that they have a new unknown. But…

“Ah!” Price suddenly exploded as he ran to a computer, “Hah! Complete luck but we found a match!”

“What? I thought there was nothing new.”

“Well, I…” Price paused as he scanned the results. “But that’s impossible.”

“What?” Beverly went over to Price. “What?”

“A strand of hair matched…” Price muttered to himself as he began typing. “It’s impossible. Miriam Lass died two years ago.”

“Miriam Lass?” Will asked, curious and feeling as if he had heard that name before.

“Last known Ripper victim,” Zeller revealed, voice a tinge incredulous. “What did you use?”

“Only a strand of hair I found lodged on a nail,” Price turned around with a frown. “I’m repeating the scan right now. If it matches again, I’m not sure what to tell Jack.”

But Will didn’t hear anything beyond that. _Ripper victim?_

Will stares at Budish, eyes narrowed.

_I think you know who the Angel Maker is._

Hannibal never did answer him then.

“Will, Katz, Price, Z.”

Will startles, as did the team—Price hurriedly clicked at his computer, Beverly covering him from view—as Jack walked over into the lab. Casting a suspicious look around the room, Jack raised an eyebrow as they scrambled around.

Taking pity on the others, Will called Jack’s attention to himself, “Yes, Jack?”

“Pack up,” His voice sounded strained. “We’ve got another body.”

Will sighed, “Again?”

“Do I look like I like it?”

“No.”

Jack pinched the bridge of his nose, “Just—let’s go.”

Zeller added his two cents as they put away their things, “Do you at least have an ID?”

“Yes.” Jack’s voice told everyone not to ask but seeing the looks sent at him, Jack sighed in resignation. “Chris O’Halloran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Geneva Walter is the kidnapper of the Lost Boys.** I am claiming creative license over her name because even the script only used “EVA”. And no. She probably isn’t Ginny Weasley’s counterpart. Probably. *cackles*
> 
> Cont. of WW rant: Don’t worry, the major elements are still present and this is an EWE fanfic. Just look closer and you’ll see it. I’ve been obvious about it. At least to me, I am. And my focus would be in the developing relationship between Will/Hannibal while they discover things about Tom/Harry. I _cannot_ believe how blind Will is being.
> 
> And because I can’t seem to put it anywhere in the story (it just seems unnecessary), Tom and Harry’s appearance is similar to what they should look like in their age except for the things I’ve already put in the story. Harry’s all small, scrawny and knobby-kneed with his hair a perpetual mess and covering _the_ scar, and Tom’s orphanage, charming Tom.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! An update?!?!?! *grins sheepishly* I am so so so so sorry! School has been hell on earth and this month has been Satan’s living room! Besides that, I had to take entrance tests to college. Who knew four subsequent days of grueling exams could sap people of their will to live! In fact, I have one scheduled for tomorrow. We’ve got a week of break coming up and I’ll see if I can make another update by then (don’t get your hopes up tho).
> 
> Anyway, here’s a new chapter (after months) and I hope it doesn’t end up too bad.

The biting cold of the morning air misted their breaths. Will tucked his hands deeper into the pockets of his thick jacket, grateful to have had the forethought to bring one with him. The sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon and already, they had to do their work.

Whatever they were expecting certainly wasn’t this.

Will was thankful he hadn’t eaten anything on their way to the scene. Zeller and Beverly seemed to be having trouble with their take-out breakfast of empty calories (they were the only things they could eat while driving).

The response team had been there before them, having had a head start in setting up. They worked fast, faster than Will could ever recall. It might have something to do with the _pile_ of blood, flesh, and bone on the dirt.

“ _God,_ ” Beverly whispered, uncharacteristically skittish and ashen. “How did they even manage to ID _this?_ ”

“Pure luck, probably,” Price responded, voice slightly faint. He seems to be fairing the best between the three of them. “Or, ah, you know, an identification card. Nifty little things they are, especially when you die a gruesome death of being turned _inside out_.”

“Why would we even find an _ID card_?”

No one was able to answer.

They didn’t seem eager to get close to the _pile_. With his limbs locked in place and hair rising at _something_ that is pungent in the air, Will could say that even _he_ wouldn’t want to. He could even see the hurried hesitance in the other agents’ movements as they skirted around it.

“Where are those normal, stab-in-the-back killers when you need them?” Zeller whined, running on sheer bravado even as he rapidly turned paler. “Even those run on the mill pickpockets gone wrong would be better than this.”

“We’re in charge of serial killers. That’s why.”

Jack stood beside Will and sighed, perhaps understanding of his co-workers’ hesitance. “Just do your jobs.”

Will took a moment to watch, to swallow the grimace that wanted to pull at his muscles. He didn’t need to— _didn’t want to—_ let the pendulum swing. The air practically stank of fear and pain— _and anger and hateandpleasureandguilt please stop it, I’ll doitjuststopstopstop_ —

 Breathing through his mouth at the sharp pain that pierced his head, Will desperately wished for anything to wash his tongue with. _Anything_ to get the awful taste the air left in his mouth. There was just _too much_ and Will wasn’t sure he could stomach what he would see. He wasn’t sure he could stomach what he _could_ feel.

“Will?”

Blinking through the haze, Will spared a glance at Jack.

“I don’t think I can do it. Not here.” Jack opened his mouth, probably to protest, but Will shook his head despite the throbbing pain. “ _No_. I can’t. It’s- it’s too _vivid_. _I can’t do it._ ” _Please._

It must have been the sheer desperation in Will’s voice, or maybe the unspoken plea, but Jack, for once, chose to back off. Will was grateful—grateful enough to let Jack put a hand on his shoulder without shrugging it off. There was a silent moment of comfort between them, something that Jack had never given him before, and Will felt the rolling on his stomach settle a little, although; it didn’t alleviate the heaviness in the air or the ugliness that Will felt clinging onto him.

“I’ll ring Doctor Lecter.” Jack informed him before excusing himself to make the call.

The pain turned into a dull ache. He remained there, standing, puzzling over the scene before him without getting _too close_. Odd, really, that it is now that Will used Alana’s words for himself.

 _Don’t get too close_.

He’d been _close_. Close to Hobbs, to Abigail, to Boyle… to _Hannibal_ and his dangerous games. Nothing from this scene—at dusk, a body of a _child_ reduced into a pile of flesh and bone, dried blood mixing in with the dirt on the ground of an out-of-the-way patch of grass in a _very_ public park—should have connected all of those.

“This thing,” Price’s words barely registered in his tumultuous thoughts.  “I don’t think there’s any outward damage. I feel like we can hang it and it would look like a bodysuit.”

Will grimaced along with everyone within hearing distance. But then he blinked. “No outward damage?”

“Nope,” The forensic scientist piped up, engrossed but slightly disturbed by his work. “No, none at all.”

“It’s like…” Zeller coined in. “Something right out of a fantasy novel. Given, a gothic one, probably. It stands that this should be _impossible_.”

“Is it worth it to quote Sherlock Holmes?”

“ _No_. It’s definitely _impossible_ , not _improbable_. Physically, logically, anything-related-ly impossible.”

Despite the levity of the words and lightness of their tone, they remained somber as they worked around the _pile_. And Will might be seeing the side of the forensics team that made them one of the best even without him there. After all, he hadn’t been a consultant for their team for a long time. It was astounding how they could glean all of this in such a short time.

“Lesions should have appeared, at the very least,” Beverly continued their verbal reports even as she wrote it down. “It’s all clean cut. Nothing’s damaged, not even one tendon out of place. The way they’re arranged, it’s like the body _spontaneously_ twisted itself and turned inside-out. Which _is_ impossible.”

Suddenly, Will felt their eyes on him, expectant. He stiffened and sighed, “What did the juvie say? How did Chris escape?”

“They’re going through surveillance now,” Apparently, Jack finished his call and had heard his question. “A couple of teenagers coming home from a nearby pub found the…body and took some photos. The technical team is working on taking those photos down before they spread further.”

Will nodded and stared, arms crossed as his mind worked over what he knew. For all intents and purposes, everything about this didn’t add up. Chris O’Halloran was supposed to be all the way in Fairfax Juvenile Detention Center, locked up and supposedly safe. He couldn’t have escaped. Unless he was kidnapped.

“Where was Geneva Walter last seen?”

“In her cell,” was Jack’s curt reply. “Then she vanished.”

“We’re not going to find anything here,” Will said with finality even as he cast an uneasy glance around him. “There’s nothing but dead-ends. It’s not even a serial murder case.” Because it isn’t. Will couldn’t draw upon patterns that didn’t exist.

It is then a surprise that Jack’s reply was not the one he expected. “It is.”

Will blinked even as his mind worked rapidly, sifting through his memories to search for a case that was similar to _this_. In all his years of teaching at the academy, and the years in and before training to become an officer, Will had studied various criminals, comparing them to each other, creating a middle for him to be able to better handle himself.

He had vast knowledge of them but nothing was ringing any bells.

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Jack chose that moment to clarify.

“You probably wouldn’t know of it,” Jack’s lips thinned. “Even I was not aware of it until now.”

Will’s brows furrowed but he remained silent even as he was presented with an opportunity to needle at Jack. There was very little amount of cases that they—between him and Jack—wouldn’t know of. As it were, working in the bureau and being active agents meant that they had information in spades. Anything remotely like _this_ would have stood out.

“Price, search through the body and try to find this,” Jack handed over his phone after Price removed a bloodied glove.

Price made a face as he stared at the device. “What’s this? Illuminati?”

“Hey,” Beverly cut off even as she continued to focus on her work of piecing the body up as much as she can; at least enough to have it properly transported, “Angels and Demons was a good movie and you know it.”

“ _No_ , it wasn’t. It was disappointing.” Price frowned. He tapped at the image and examined it for a few moments before holding it up to face the rest of them. “Does this look familiar to you?”

Curious, Will stepped closer and squinted at it. It was quite obviously zoomed in but it was fairly easy to tell that whatever he was looking at was a body. Carved on what appeared to be human skin was a circle bisected by a line encased in a triangle. The lines were red and bleeding, making Will wonder rather morbidly whether it was drawn while the person was alive or if the person was _still_ alive. Given their line of work, Will didn’t really have to ponder too much.

“It kind of… does?”

Will blinked and everyone’s attention was on Zeller who was frowning at the picture. The curly haired man skittered around the _pile_ and took the phone from Price’s hand. “I feel like I’ve seen this before but I can’t remember where. But I _did_.”

Will stared into Jack’s direction. He didn’t voice out the vague sense of déjà vu when his eyes landed on the image. “Are there possible suspects?”

Jack shook his head and let out an aggravated sigh. “This case came all the way from across the pond. We’ll have to deal with bureaucratic bullshit later on.”

Will grimaced, “Where?”

“The UK.”

Then realization hit him and Will felt as if doused with freezing water as it simply made complete sense. “The murders eight years ago,” He had to bite back an inappropriate laugh. “There was _no method, no pattern_. Violence for the sake of violence. _Of course._ ”

“You know?” was Jack’s surprised response.

Will, too wrapped up in his own thoughts, was unable to reply. There was something itching at the back of his mind and it wasn’t the sense of smugness in finding out he was right that _those_ brutal murders had some sort of significance. But it still cast the question.

_Why here, why now?_

For the first time in quite a while, this kind of revelation was not accompanied by the looming— _comforting, reassuring, stifling_ —presence of the Stag. Instead, a chill settled deep inside his bones. For a moment, it reminded him of his dreams.

:::…~~~-0-~~~~…:::

He was no stranger to pain. No stranger to torment and sorrow and grief. His life, now, is a waking nightmare; his sleep filled with anguish and mocking laughter. He’d changed because of this. There’s no telling when it started, _how much_ he had. He just knew because the laughter does not stop telling him this.

The lines blurred.

Even now, the screams won’t stop echoing in his mind. The pungent scent of blood never left. The fear and pleasure never became separable.

Was it his actions?

It was. He was sure it was. And this surety made his moves less mechanical. There was no room for doubt, no room to allow the _fear and regret and pain_ to muddle his mind.

He was no stranger to pain. No stranger to torment and sorrow and grief. His life, now, is a nightmare.

_Why do you allow yourself to suffer so? You know how to end it._

He does.

_Then why?_

He can’t answer that.

_Everything is in your hands and yet you choose to let—_

No! He couldn’t, he wouldn’t!

_Not yet. The time will come that you would do it, Master. No one escapes Death._

A chill that would have frozen the hearts of men swept through his body, only the heavy weight of arms locked him into place. His breath remained level even as his heart pounded harshly. Nails dug into flesh and he hardly reacted to the wound it created.

A harsh pressure in his mind made itself known and he resigned himself to a thorough scrutiny that left him feel violated. It wasn’t as if anything would be found.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“I seem to remember giving instructions of rest.”

Will blinked and turned away from the wall he had been staring at for the last few… however long it was. Amidst the busy walls of the FBI, Hannibal Lecter stood out with his unhurried and regal bearing. People automatically veered away from their path when they are close to him. It irked Will to a great degree.

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor Lecter,” Will answered, arms crossed. “Would it come as a surprise that I _have_ followed those instructions?”

A frown marred the pristine mask the doctor wears. “Then I have to wonder at the dark bags under your eyes. Let me rephrase my concern; have you been sleeping well?”

Will snorted and started to walk, satisfied to see that Hannibal followed without fuss. “I’ve been sleeping.”

Truly, he had. He’d slept a full eight hours the past few days except for this morning. Hannibal was exaggerating a bit if Will was to be honest. The bags weren’t as pronounced as the doctor made it sound like; he’d checked it just a few minutes ago in the bathroom mirrors.

“And yet your appearance betrays you.” The doctor’s tone was tinged with reproach. “Why have you not told me?”

“I don’t need to report everything I do to you.”  Oddly enough, there was hardly any amount of scorn in his voice. Will wonders at this. The walk to Jack’s office was a short one and Will finished his words just as they arrived. “You aren’t my keeper.”

Whatever Hannibal might have said—if he had one—was cut off by Will opening the door to the office.

“Gentlemen.” Jack greeted without warmth. There was a deep-set frown etched on his face that told anyone of his less than stellar mood and warned them to proceed with caution. “Have a seat.”

It must have been worse than Will thought because Jack was hardly this formal towards his co-workers.  Without voicing his thoughts, Will sat down on one of the chairs. Hannibal took his place beside Will and both looked on expectantly at Jack.

The head of the BAU only sat behind his desk with an aggravated sigh. “We’ll wait for the others.”

Minutes later, the rest of the forensic team entered. Beverly came in first followed by the arguing Price and Zeller. Going by the twitch of the only female’s eye, they’ve been at it for quite a bit of time.

“The neural transmitters wouldn’t be so staggeringly low in number if they hadn’t _somehow_ been fried!”

“And I keep on saying that there are no marks of torture!”

“Well, a _zap_ wouldn’t make visible marks if done in different parts of the body!”

“ _No!_ You’ve got it wrong! Electrical burns would show on the body—”

“The nerve endings are still—”

Jack cleared his throat and the arguing immediately died down. Both men had the decency to mutter an apology. Beverly’s groan of relief was audible in the nearly silent room.

“Thanks.” Beverly said, throwing herself on one of the chairs a bit of ways away from Jack’s desk. “They’ve been at it since some of the tests came out.”

Will spied the disapproving twitch in Hannibal’s lip and had to put effort in keeping his face straight. Had Hannibal always reacted that strongly at the blatant show of coarse behavior? If then, Will wonders how he had missed it when he, himself, had been rather awkward in most things he does.

“So what’s up?”

The question had everyone’s attention on the man behind the desk. Will already knew, of course, and he had to wonder why Hannibal was there.

It must have been because of Will’s earlier reluctance. He didn’t know if it annoyed him or not. Just the same, Hannibal was there and Will still had mixed feelings about the doctor; he’d just have to deal with it. And maybe, just maybe, having the doctor around would be better. The bitterness at the back of his throat reminded him of the intense air from before. He’d been lucky that Jack had been amicable.

“We’re expecting a new arrival in a few days’ time,” Jack was informing them, “I’m hoping that you would do your best to work with them.”

“Them?” Zeller questioned, proving to be the most courageous of the lot; at least, at the current time. “What them? Why would we need a _them_?”

Jack sighed, “Not a them, _them_. Just one person for now.”

“ _Why?”_

The longer Jack remained silent, the higher the tension rose. Will and Hannibal remained silent, preferring to wait.

“A few hours ago, we received information about this case—”

Zeller cut off impatiently, “Which case?”

Jack’s glare shut up Zeller. “As I was saying, the bureau received information that the M.O. of Chris O’Halloran’s death was due to a serial killer and not, in fact, an individual murder.”

“Well,” Price filled the silence before it became stifling again, “we thought as much. Graham here won’t have been with us if it was only a homicide.”

Beverly voiced her musings, eyebrows furrowed in thought, “Why do I feel as if it isn’t just because of that?”

“Because it’s not?” Zeller added helpfully.

Jack let the comment pass. “Eight years ago, a series of murders occurred in Europe. The first victims were a couple in Surrey, England. Their bodies were mauled beyond recognition. The cause of death could have been anything from losing too much blood to a stroke; they simply couldn’t perform a proper autopsy.”

Jack took a file from his desk and passed it to Hannibal. It was thick, about two inches, but it was incredibly neat. The doctor held it with practiced hands and leafed through it, tilting it at an angle that the forensics team, who had migrated over to peer at the files, could see it clearly.

The interest lighting Hannibal’s eyes told Will that the doctor knew of this particular murders. For a second, Will thought that he was tied to it somehow but then completely squashed the thought. It was simply too… _messy_ for the Chesapeake Ripper. Even the thought of a young, inexperienced Hannibal merrily picking at a body with abandon and leaving it like that for the world to see was absurd.

Hannibal turned his victims into _art_. It is his _craft_ , his passion; transforming the tarnishes of the world into something entirely different and _beautiful_. It was not violence _for the sake of_ violence.

“The next victims were the Riddles from a tiny village in Yorkshire. If they hadn’t been the rich sort, no one would be able to tell who they were.  Then an old couple, both identifiably male, somewhere in the West Country of England.”

“I remember these killings,” Hannibal finally offered his opinion. “I had been in the process of preparation for migrating in the US when it happened. I confess I hadn’t paid much attention due to other pressing matters but I doubt if no one knew of it at the time. The news spread like wildfire in Europe.”

Will frowns because it became obvious to him that Hannibal knows more than he lets on.

“How did they know that about Chris O’ Halloran?” There was no doubt in Will’s mind that the chain started again. It was rather common for serial murders to happen again after a few years, especially if there wasn’t anyone caught. “Even if they did see it from the leaked photos, they couldn’t have easily linked it with _those_ murders.”

Beverly suddenly moved to put a hand on the file, stopping Hannibal’s hands form moving it. She picked it up, ignoring the affronted look on Hannibal’s face, and scanned the report. She made a sound at the back of her throat and muttered to herself.

“It’s hard to imitate this effect of turning a person inside out,” Beverly was saying, “Not to this degree. No lesions, no cuts, no burst vein… it’s all basically the same from our body.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, “Have you found the mark?”

“It was carved on the cranial bone,” Will answered without missing a beat.

“So what do we do now?” Price asked, “You say it’s been going on for eight years and now it’s reached the states.”

“Not eight years, Jimmy,” Jack sighed, “It ended six years ago. The killer suddenly vanished. At first they thought he had left for another country but when years went by and nothing came out again, they shelved the case. It wasn’t closed and investigations still came up here and there. That’s why the file is so thick.”

“We’ll have to wait for whoever it is they’re going to send?” Zeller seemed completely annoyed.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Jack sighed again and rubbed at his forehead in aggravation. “O’Halloran’s case would have to be put on hold until whoever they’re going to send arrives here and they better be damn here soon. In the meantime, you work on Budish. I want _something_ to come out of that.”

When silence met his words, Jack nearly roared, having risen up a temper. “Go!”

The forensics team nearly scrabbled out of the office. The door shut without a sound and the tension in the room rose once more.

“You want me to continue the investigation.” It wasn’t a question. There was no response or acknowledgement over what he said, not that Will was expecting any.

“Doctor Lecter expressed his concern over your health.” Jack said instead, giving a meaningful glance at the other two people in the room with him. “It wouldn’t be against any rules for you to accompany him given that he is your psychiatrist.”

Will felt the urge to throw something at Jack but curbed it as he cast a glance at the suspiciously amused twitch of Hannibal. “…yes.” He really had no choice but to bow his head.

“Then I’ll leave you to it, gentlemen.”

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

Beverly eyed the half-assembled body lying innocently on a gurney. They’ve decided that they can’t really turn the skin and muscles the right side up without damaging anything and had instead laid it out and carefully assembled the bones and organs on another surface beside it. It felt like she was staring at a masterfully done prosthetics instead of a real body.

She turned her eyes away and instead focused on what she should be focusing on. Elliot Budish.

The cut on his back was skillfully done. Whoever did it was experienced in slicing people up, Budish’s knifing skills wasn’t up to par and was just a disgrace to compare it to. And, well, comparing it to Budish’s kills was like comparing night and day.

If Will hadn’t noticed anything, the autopsy would have still turned up with something. It was that obvious. Budish did the cuts post-mortem, this one didn’t. Budish was clumsy, this one did it without shaking fingers.

Budish also didn’t carve out a piece and kept them. The muscles just above the thoracolumbar spine were cut off. It wasn’t too large a chunk, presumably cut off to create the shape of the wings, but there all the same. Budish didn’t do that.

Now, they are looking at a person who had some sort of background in skillfully using knives. It could range from a butcher to a sculpting artist. She was leaning more to the butcher side but animal and human anatomies aren’t _that_ similar. Butchers tend to use their strength and focus more on cutting than absolute precision.

A surgeon, then? They’d have the control and knowledge to do it as precisely as it was done with Budish.

And, hey, doesn’t that sound familiar?

“That Copycat Killer,” Beverly spoke up, “Didn’t he have a medical background too?”

“No,” Brian answered her, fingers clacking away at one of the scanners. “Nicholas Boyle doesn’t have one. He just seems to be good at it. Probably practiced on animals, that one.”

“Huh.”

She almost forgot about Boyle. The boy doesn’t seem to fit in her idea of the Copycat Killer. Nor does it Will’s, and he’s good at what he does. They hadn’t caught Boyle yet either.

Then a thought came to her.

 _Miriam Lass_.

Hadn’t they found her hair lodged on a nail?

“Why do you think Miriam Lass’ hair would be there?” She asked Jimmy.

Jimmy looked up from his dusting and shrugged. “Probably when she took a stroll there? I don’t know.”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that even if she _did_ go there because of one thing or the other, we’d find it _years_ after?”

“You know,” Price put down the brush and a wallet—Budish’s wallet. “This thing with Miriam Lass is seriously putting some weirdness in the case. Not to mention we still have to worry about snooty Brits coming down here in _our_ lab because _their_ killer migrated over here.”

“Oh, stop complaining,” Beverly rolled her eyes, “What happened with her anyway? I can’t recall any ‘Miriam Lass’ during my stay here. Well, nothing beyond the basic of basics.”

“Well…” Jimmy rubbed his chin and even Brian stopped what he is doing to listen in. “She was kind of Jack’s progeny- apprentice? Anyway, she was a trainee and helped Jack in hunting down the Chesapeake Ripper. I’m going with what I heard from whispers, okay. Apparently, she found a lead and went to whatever it was. Next thing she’s gone.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy nodded at his own words, “No note, no body. She simply vanished.”

“The last victim of the Ripper,” Brian commented, “Maybe she _did_ find the Ripper. Got too close and all that.”

“And, what, got killed?” Jimmy snorted, “The Ripper hardly stays silent of his kills. Maybe they eloped.”

“Or maybe she was captured.”

That made sense. But it still didn’t, at the same time. Why would her hair be at the barn with Budish? She scribbled a note on a paper. Miriam Lass had added a new variable in this case. As if it wasn’t complicated enough. But she did know that the Chesapeake Ripper, and maybe even the Copycat Killer, is connected to this somehow.

She’d really have to drag Will into that café soon. Her head was spinning from all of this crap.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

It was odd.

The atmosphere wasn’t stifling nor was it awkward. In fact it was… comfortable. They had been stewing in this silence for the majority of the drive now and, well, Will was puzzled over it. It was something to get used to, certainly, because it was just so odd.

This was the first time Will drove a car with Hannibal as his companion. And Hannibal seemed quite content in the silence.

Will’s attention remained on the road. The sky was slowly darkening and he estimated that they would arrive right before sundown; enough time for what he intended.

They arrived at the Fairfax Juvenile Center without fanfare.

And now here they were, once again sitting on plastic chairs and awaiting the Hobbs’s. They could have called for the other children involved with Geneva Walter but then they didn’t really have a reason why they had to meet with them. The Hobbs’s were the safer and more discreet option.

Soon enough, the boys arrived.

“Doctor Lecter!”

The tilt of Hannibal’s lips was unmistakable, more so the softness in his eyes. Will blinked and shrugged. Honestly, he was wondering at his own blasé approach.

“Hello Hadrian,” Hannibal greeted, “Marvolo.”

“Oh, hello to you too Mr. Graham!”

Will smiled at them, finding it easier at the light atmosphere of the room. He didn’t dare look at any of their eyes. “It’s nice to see the two of you again.”

“So why are we here?” Marvolo cut to the chase, an eyebrow raised. “I don’t see Abigail anywhere.”

Unconsciously, Will’s lip twitched but he covered it up by licking his lips. These boys are unnerving and different, yes, but they are children all the same. “We’re here about Chris O’ Halloran.”

“Oh?” Marvolo’s voice was pitched high in demand but didn’t elaborate.

“Why?” Hadrian cut in with a little frown. “Chris hadn’t done anything bad, did he?”

“No.” Will answered. He stared at the boys for a moment, debating with himself on whether he should tell them or not. But then Abigail’s words echoed in his mind. He wasn’t trained to interact with children so it’s not as if he knew what _not_ to do. “Well, no, he hadn’t done anything _bad_. But he was killed.”

“Oh.”

Hadrian was tense in his sit but Marvolo remained relaxed in his seat. It wouldn’t have been the way normal children would react to that kind of news but Will discreetly let out a breath of relief. No tears, no tantrums. He should have expected this with their oddity.

“Can you tell us where you saw Chris last?”

Both tilted their heads at the same time, unnerving Will.

Hadrian started, crossing his arms “Well…”

“He was in isolation the last time we saw him.” Marvolo crossed his legs and leaned back, managing to remain smooth. “The other children weren’t being… nice.”

“Yeah, they weren’t.” Hadrian’s smile contradicted the meaning of his words. “They said mean things to him.” Then his face darkened. “But he pushed me and it _hurt_.”

Marvolo hummed and let Hadrian scoot closer to him.

“Nobody hurts us without consequences.”

It was said with such a dark promise that Will was convinced he’d go through with whatever is in his mind. It raised suspicion and alarm. Then he thought of Hannibal and Abigail and sighed. This was going to be another thing he’d ignore, isn’t it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL. I decided to speed up the plot a bit so it—ah. Yes, so there. That’s what happened. Thank you for waiting for this. I am so grateful of all your support even though I am proving to be a crappy writer.
> 
> It’s revealed a lot, ne?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! Finally! I’ve procrastinated for a lot of days *giggles* Anyway, this may be the last one for a while ‘cause school’s back and it’s the final semester and I am mentally preparing myself for a few more breakdowns down the road.  
> And oh, hey! We reached chapter 10! Huzzah!  
> Okay, so, I hope you enjoy~!

Is _this something he was going to ignore?_

“What about you Mr. Graham?”

Will blinks because for a moment, suspicion heavily clouded his thoughts. It had muddled his sense for a tiny bit of moment that seemed almost insignificant. And beside him, Hannibal sat there as if it were a common occurrence to be in a juvenile center and be faced with indecipherable surety that _should have_ , for all intents and purposes, alarmed any other normal human being.

“Pardon?”

“The world isn’t linear with its motives.” Marvolo spoke with an incredible amount of detachment, having made a good impression of talking to a child. “And the line of morality isn’t as straight as it should be. Tell us, Mr. Graham, to what lengths would you reach for what you desire?”

It could have been said by an adult for all Will could think right now. It could have been words that tumble out of Hannibal’s lips in the form of skillfully woven silk. Perhaps Will had grown desensitized with the oddness of these boys that he actually felt threatened to the degree of defensiveness reserved for the probing of nosy psychiatrists.

“I don’t desire much,” Will answered. _Liar_.

Marvolo smirked, amusement dancing across his red-green eyes, as if hearing the whisper in Will’s mind. “Everyone has their desires, Mr. Graham. Would it have to take a mirror for you to see yours?”

There was a reference there that Will missed but his tongue remained knotted, his lips unmoving. His gaze strayed to the seat beside him, hoping for _something_ that would break the boy’s unnerving scrutiny from him. It was too intense, too _interested_. But Hannibal was absorbed into a quiet conversation with Hadrian Hobbs, clearly leaving Will and Marvolo to their own.

Will _longed_ to feel the beautiful Stag breathing down his neck and having to focus on _that_ instead of being a breath away from squirming in his seat because of a _child_. Whoever said karma came fast should be shoved in a room full of gnats.

Marvolo clicked his tongue, stopping Hadrian from his chatter about the existence of unicorns— _and really, Hannibal would listen to that?_ —and somehow Will felt as if the boy— _whichever one of them, he couldn’t quite tell_ —was disappointed.

“There’s no good or evil, Mr. Graham,” Marvolo stated with an imploring gaze. “You’re too blinded to _see_.” Then the boy’s smirk widened, briefly glancing at his twin. “Why don’t you have, _ah_ , another conversation with Dr. Lecter?”

Then they left, leaving Will with half-answers to questions he did not want to ask.

Beside him, Hannibal’s face could have been carved from stone. The doctor’s gaze trailed over to where the boys had left, eyes narrowed and calculating.

Will found his voice forming, feeling rather rattled. “ _Unicorns?_ ” And it was all he could say.

“Creatures of purity and innocence,” Hannibal answered—and it was as if Will was watching wax melt into pliable pieces that the doctor could easily mold—amusement lacing his tone despite his earlier gaze. “Hadrian was in the process of convincing me of their existence. He raises good points although I still find it hard to truly believe.”

Will’s face must have told the doctor something, or amused him to great end, because Hannibal offered a hand as he stood up, waiting for Will to take it. It didn’t even register in Will’s mind that he took it.

“They have the ability to see through the hearts of men.” Hannibal continued as they stalked through the halls of the centre, Will’s loafers making faint squeaks on the linoleum and Hannibal’s remaining silent. “Children, he says, have the innocence that these creatures look for. Men do not.”

Will glanced at him in puzzlement, not quite sure what point he is making. “And what do you think, Doctor Lecter?”

“Their innocence is not an entirely debatable matter.” Hannibal inclined his head in thought, an odd, bird-like habit that the man seems to not have control over— _and isn’t it reassuring to know that the man is not always in perfect control_. “The purity of their intentions, on the other hand, could be just as questionable as an aged man’s.”

“Are they?” Will wondered out loud, baiting the answer with the cover of this conversation they are having. He did not question Hannibal’s seeming ignorance to his and Marvolo’s conversation. “Innocent, I mean.”

“Unicorns are not of existence in this world, Will.” Then, he paused before continuing. “But perhaps they do.”

Will bit his lip. If even Hannibal was unsure, he didn’t know if there would ever be a clear answer in the near future.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

It was with his pack sleeping soundly around him that Will found himself that night.

With the months fast approaching winter, the air was cold enough to call for the use of a heater. The fireplace had also been lit but it was unable to completely chase away the cold. The dogs huddled close to the fire and the heater, Will having already dragged their beds close to it.

A bottle of whiskey lay beside him, its contents only a small amount that stagnated at the bottom. Will reached out, attempting to take another swig before seeing its emptiness. He put it down with a sigh and resisted the urge to throw it at the wall, opting instead to close his eyes and to scrub his hands at his face.

He had attempted to sleep a while ago but his mind refused to slow down and rest, too coiled up and tense.

The events of the day continued to play over and over inside his mind, thinking that maybe he had missed something. Questions swirled around his head and they didn’t slow down for Will to actually mull over it. His mind was a jumbled mess of confusion and maybe he shouldn’t have finished an entire bottle of whiskey because his head was throbbing now.

He resisted the urge to scream _what the fuck is happening_ because the silence and the crackling of the fire and the humming of the heater were just too peaceful to disturb.

His fingers idly drew on his thighs, the storm in his mind covered up by the deceiving calmness of his body, betrayed only by his hands. Over and over again, his fingers drew the symbol on his skin. The _Deathly Hallows_. It wasn’t the official name, just something written on the sidelines of the reports. It was odd but it was something to call it. It sure sounded ominous enough.

Something itched at the back of his mind, _something_ that had bothered him ever since he saw the symbol— _but it had been there before he even saw it on Jack’s phone or carved into a skull._ It buzzed and tingled, enough to be noticed but not enough to be distracting _._

Blinking slowly into the fire, Will focused on that buzzing now. It was better than the raging storm that he couldn’t control. Calmer, steadier, and somewhat familiar. The rhythmic throb of his head appeased and he focused on it.

He sighed and the buzzing grew louder.

And louder.

And it wasn’t deafening.

It tingled harder.

Then, quite suddenly, he was submerged into darkness.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

_He was floating. It was a certain sensation of rocking back and forth, gently swaying to the small ripples of the ocean. The sky was dark and the water below the boat—boat?—was glowing ever so slightly._

_He cast a glance around, staring straight ahead where he knew something should have stood._

_The silence was incredibly eerie and the thick fog slowly covering his sight made him slightly distressed._

_He was on a boat in the middle of an ocean without a beacon of light to guide his way. The water was glowing slightly but that didn’t tell him where he should go. There was no patch of land for him to dock; no jutting rock to break the sight of fogged, glowing ocean and dark sky._

_“Hello?”_

_His words didn’t echo; its sound sucked in by the darkness. Will frowned. This was a dream, he was certain of it. Even if his awareness should not be sharp, a voice whispered that this was a dream. He believed it; the scene reminded him of seeing his house as the floating beacon; his safe haven in the midst of drowning in the water._

_He shifted, not entirely surprised when the boat remained steady and bobbing with the invisible winds and ripples. Then, knowing there was no risk of falling, Will stood up to look around, hoping to have some clue as to what this particular dream wants him to see._

_Nothing._

_He stared up the darkness and closed his eyes. It was almost…serene. Slowly, the tenseness of his shoulders lightened as the bobbing lulled him into calm. A silent breeze he did not feel blew at his curls._

_Will opened his eyes and sat down, scooting over to the edge of the boat to stare at the water. It was a glowing blue and his reflection stared at him, clear with a mirror-like quality. Curious at its stillness despite his boat’s bobbing, Will reached out to touch, half-expecting his fingers to meet the hard surface of a mirror instead of water (it’s water—waterwaternothingelsetouchit—)_

_His fingers sank in. It felt cool and warm in his hands and he wiggled his fingers, blinking at its calm._

_Without warning, his boat tipped over, throwing him down the water. Instinct had him clenching his eyes shut and holding his breath._

_He felt a moment of panic and struggled before he remembered that he knew how to swim. He kicked his feet and paddled his arms to get him in an upright position. He continued to do so, the fall having made him feel disoriented._

_Will realized something was wrong when he couldn’t seem to break through the surface of water and into air. He couldn’t have fallen in too deep; he could still feel the coolness and warmth of the strange water no matter how much he kicked and paddled._

_Risking opening his eyes—because this was the ocean and it’s waternothingelse—Will found himself in utter darkness. And this time, there was nothing glowing to make him see where he is. He sucked in a breath, having let his thudding heart get the better of him before realizing how utterly_ stupid _it was to suck in a breath under water, no matter if it is a dream (yesss, it’s only a dream)._

_It seems his panic was for naught when he felt the coolness and warmth enter to his lungs and did not end up choking._

_Curiosity sparked, Will put a hand on his chest, the other on his throat, and inhaled._

_Exhaled._

_Inhaled._

_Exhaled._

_The sensation of having liquid enter and exit his lungs was decidedly weird but…nice. He doubted it would feel as nice in the real world, obviously._

_He stilled his body and basked in the calmness of the moment._

_There, floating in the darkness of his dream—no, no not dream, but it’s a dreamit’sadreamit’sadreamWill—Will felt himself ease into his skin and the disquiet that mounted in the past few weeks numbed._

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“So Will.” Beverly grinned at him smugly as she stuffed a slice of her cinnamon roll into her mouth. “What has you…glowing…today? Finally got laid?”

Will nearly choked on the coffee he was sipping—dumped full of unhealthy amounts of sugar; something he indulges in once in a while—but managed to swallow it. A small cough still escaped his lips.

“Excuse me?”

The forensic scientist snorted, lip twitching at Will’s _not-_ spluttering. “You’re better than you were yesterday. Definitely less tense.”

“Ah.” Will sipped on his mug, feeling unsure of the casualty presented and the fact that she’d noticed. “I had a good night’s sleep is all.”

She almost looked disappointed in his answer.

Well, what did she expect? Will wasn’t exactly “laying” material. Occasionally, he would flirt with the idea (sometimes does it too), but “occasionally” is still a rather broad term to use. Besides, he really did just wake up feeling lighter than he ever did. Of course, that was until the woman sitting in front of him basically kidnapped him from Wolftrap and into this tiny café in the farthest niche of Quantico.

It wasn’t all that bad. The food is good and it’s not as if Will lacks the money to pay. It may just be the company but he would admit to himself that Beverly Katz is easy to get along with. Just that she’s too talkative for Will to ever truly enjoy. Small doses and all that.

“Why’d you drag me out for?” Will eventually asked, his newly found balance reflecting on his posture and speech. “I thought Jack had you busy in the lab.”

“We are.” Beverly amends, polishing off the plate with the last slice of her pastry. “And I also know you’re continuing the investigation with the bossman’s orders. And so we can’t really have your pretty head at our beck and call down in the labs.”

 _Oh_. Suddenly, her motives became clearer. He doesn’t tense. Will gently puts down the mug and crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow. “You know we could have just talked about it at the bureau.”

“We could have.” She sips at her drink. “But I want a break from staring at dead bodies for a bit. And besides, you owed me a drink, remember?”

Will sighed. He did kind of forget that. “So what did you want to know?”

“Nothing the reports don’t say.” Beverly shrugged and propped her chin up with a hand, slouching in her seat as she did so. “It’s just—” She scratches her nose with a frown. “I feel like we’re missing something.”

“We’re always missing something.” Will snorted, slightly marveling at how easy his responses came.

Beverly rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes. That’s why we have our jobs.” She crossed her arms and leaned back on her seat in barely concealed agitation. “But anyway, I _know_ we’re missing something. We’ve established that Budish killed all the other victims. Someone else killed Budish; okay, we got that. Miriam Lass’ hair was found at the scene; suspicious but the evidence is there. So why would Nicholas Boyle take a go with Budish?”

Will’s breath stops for a moment and his eyes widened. It was lucky that Beverly was aggressively stirring her drink and had her eyes focused on setting it on fire instead of observing Will.

_Deep breaths. Think of the coolness and warmth of the dark. You know your way around these things._

Will’s voice remained steady, he even managed to make it sound curious, “Nicholas Boyle? The Copycat Killer?”

“Yeah.” Beverly looks up and pierces Will with a tired—and grateful?—look. “I just don’t get it.” Her voice rose though it remained quiet enough not to arouse the curiosity of other patrons. “Nicholas Boyle _does not fit_ the profile. Why would he kill his own sister?! Their parents’ statements don’t even point to any type of sibling rivalry. Or sibling _intimacy_ for that matter.”

Heart thudding at his chest, Will considered his options. It was quite clear that Beverly hadn’t voiced her concerns to the others so with the right words, Will could easily stop her suspicions from forming. But then if he were to make only a bit of error, Beverly Katz would find out. He won’t insult her intelligence and underestimate her; one did not become part of Jack Crawford’s favorite team by merely having sharp tongues and inappropriate humor.

“No, he doesn’t.” Will closes his eyes, as if trying to recall. _Abigail, think of Abigail_. “Nicholas Boyle was merely a student. He doesn’t have enough resources to ever do it to Cassie Boyle.”

“Hah!” Beverly scoffed. “So he _isn’t_ the Copycat.”

“He is,” Will says with a shrug. If he were to say the next things with confidence, Beverly wouldn’t push. “Marissa Schurr was killed by Nicholas Boyle. That one is certain.”

The key is to _misdirect_. Will didn’t have to be awfully elaborate in his reasoning to have her draw her own conclusions. It helps that Will had always been short with his words. And Will watched as she made the connections in her head.

Beverly stares at him with squinted eyes, mind racing at the prospects. “What you’re saying is that…there are _two_ of them.”

“We have considered the possibility.” There, that would stop her from approaching Jack even if he knew she wouldn’t, not without evidence. Will takes his mug in hand but was careful not to fiddle with it even if he wanted to. “What does this have to do with Budish?”

Beverly stares down at her glass, still stirring.

Will resists the urge to fidget.

“Nothing I’m sure of yet.” She eventually says and Will tensed. “But I’ll have to go look around first. Don’t worry your pretty little head, Graham, you’ll have to prepare for our import. I’m sure you’d take the brunt of it. Along with that wonderful doctor of yours.”

Will gave her a flat look from which she responded with a laugh.

He let a small smile curve at his lips.

_Hook, line, and sinker._

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

They arrived at the bureau with Will slightly deafened because Beverly liked keeping the volume of her music loud enough to drown out the sound of the engine. He wouldn’t have suffered through that if only he was in his own car. But of course, the woman _had_ bodily dragged him into her car, ignoring his protests.

Thank God his keys hadn’t fallen on the ground.

Now, take-out coffee cup in hand (this one completely black), he was torn between going to the archives—a rather useless venture considering that this particular investigation was solely done overseas—or accompanying Beverly down in the labs. Of course, he could always go and prepare his lesson plans but Jack had had him excused for a few days yet.

Then again, Will guessed that he has to retrieve the files first no matter what he wanted to do for the day.

So, with Beverly it is. Because _somehow_ —and Will knew this was deliberately done, and no one who had been in the room were easily fooled—Jack _forgot_ to take it back from the clutches of Brian Zeller.

Petty, yes, but clever nonetheless. Will didn’t have to go through paper works just to get a single file and Jack didn’t have to explain why Will would want access to the file. It’s been legally halted, after all.

In all the honesty Will possessed— _not much, you utter liar_ —he was unsure why he has to continue the investigation. He was curious, yes, but the dread that formed at the pit of his stomach is rather hard to ignore.

Officially, the murders weren’t called anything and Will certainly found it annoying that he would have to call it _“the murders”_ in his head or when referring to it. And it was rather ambiguous. Perhaps that term—maybe even with capitalizations—had been enough for the people in Europe to know which news they are talking about but certainly not here where the murders weren’t _big_ news.

 _They’re afraid to name something so horrifying_ , a part of Will’s mind concluded. Maybe it was. Naming it would have made it all the more real and the extent of the murders—if going by what he could remember from his brief research on it when he first came across the information and the sheer thickness of the file sent over—had been massive. Or perhaps it had been in the hopes of minimizing the effect. “ _The Murders_ ” is rather simplistic and all around uninspiring.

But he remembered one blog—a weird, hippy-looking thing whose name maybe started with a “Q”—that had named it. _The Twisted Gallows_ , it called them. The blogger never mentioned why. Will only remembered it because the content was rather amusing. Apparently, the blogger was rather fond of conspiracy theories and have determined that the Gallowses ( _because they couldn’t possibly be done by a single person_ ) were victims of the government’s thirst for immortality or some such stuff and was ‘ _determined to unleash their fury_ ’ (word-for-word) on the people.

It was entertaining enough that Will had been able to relax some of the tension that formed when he’d been traipsing through the World Wide Web.

They arrived at the lab in no time and Will, completely lost in thought, almost smacked into the closing doors but managed to snap a hand at the handle and prevented an embarrassing show of absentmindedness.

“Mornin’!”

Zeller had an annoyed look in his face as Beverly greeted them. “Aren’t you running a bit late.”

“Sorry Z.” Beverly sauntered over to her side of the room, not even sparing the other males a glance. “Had myself a date with gorgeous Graham over there.”

Zeller, who was about to follow-up his response, completely shut his mouth and snapped a glare at Will’s direction.

Price seemed to sense the oncoming tension and chose to intervene. “Isn’t that a bit unprofessional?”

“Oh come off it,” Beverly answered in an overly posh tone. “He owed me.”

Will rolled his eyes, choosing to not take the bait Zeller unwittingly made himself to be. “Of course I did.” The circumstances of his debt were not something that should even be considered in an ‘I-owe-you’ basis. Beverly was honestly stretching it a bit. “If kidnapping me counts, sure.”

“Excuse you Graham, I did not _kidnap_ you.”

“I don’t have a car now,” Will sighed, truly frustrated this time. “How am I going to go home?”

“Take a cab.” Zeller snapped, obviously still quite angry at Will for some reason. “It’s easy to do.”

Seeing as Zeller was still trying to antagonize him, Will decided he’d leave them be as soon as he retrieved what he went down here for. “Where’s the file?”

Price gestured over to one of the cabinets. “It’s there. Won’t miss it.”

Will nodded and brusquely took the file when he saw it. He spared a nod to the three—to Zeller more out of courtesy than anything—and went on his way to his pseudo office. He couldn’t very well be at his lecture hall. Alana is there, busy substituting for him.

While walking, Will suddenly faltered in his steps as a thought occurred to him.

_Brian Zeller and Beverly Katz?_

Then he resolved to himself that it wasn’t his business. Zeller could pine over Beverly all he wanted. Will doesn’t even think he and Beverly could exist with each other for more than a day.

Steps a bit slower than his previous speed, Will made it to his office and dumped the thick file on his desk.

He stared at it long and hard, and then sighed.

Ignoring the uncomfortable twist in his gut, Will settled himself for a long day ahead.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“This is your final opportunity to comply. On your feet, Dr. Gideon, or we _will_ restrain you.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare to breathe. Even a twitch would clue them all in. He tasted blood— _his blood_ —in his mouth. Sweat dripped down his nose and forehead in his effort to repress the pain.

The cell doors opened with a ring and buzz.

“Turn over and lace your finger behind your head,” One of them barked.

He heard rustling as they surrounded his prone body and Abel _almost_ let himself be caught when one of them touched his neck to check his pulse. He didn’t press hard enough to find it.

“Get a gurney!”

 _Idiots,_ Dr. Gideon thought as they loaded him up.

He waited, patiently biding his time despite the temptation. Soon, he was in the infirmary and alone with the nurse. Such lax security, do they honestly deserve to be an institution for the criminally insane?

His clothes were torn open and Dr. Gideon briefly lamented over the rough treatment. Electrodes were put on his chest and the chill of it bothered him.

The wound he had inflicted in his wrist throbbed in reminder and he peeked open an eye to check on his surroundings.

The nurse remained with her back turned to him and Dr. Gideon slowly bent his fingers to reach the piece of sharpened tine he had secreted away into his skin and carefully pulled it out, eyes blinking rapidly in pain. Finally having it in hand, Dr. Gideon fumbled with the handcuffs, doing it with utmost care to avoid having the fork tine— _bloodstained_ _sticky_ —slip from his fingers

Once his hand became free from the handcuff, Dr. Gideon cast a glance at the careless nurse and did a fast job of freeing his other hand.

He sat up, silent in his movements, and slowly made his way towards her. Unfortunately, the heart rate monitor made a long beeping noise as it disconnected from him.

He didn’t pause but neither was there anticipation for what he is going to do.

She turned around at the noise and he was ready for it. Dr. Gideon pulled his hand back and delivered a swift punch to her throat. The nurse gasped futilely and stumbled to a corner and Dr. Gideon followed, grabbing her collar in both hands and lifting her up with force.

He stared into her eyes, searching. Fear reflected back at him.

Dr. Gideon tossed her on the ground.

 _Useless_ , his mind spat.

He straddled the gasping nurse and held her cheeks. He tried, again, and stared _deep_ into her eyes.

_Who? Who is he?_

Her dark eyes were wide with fear.

 _Nothing_.

Dr. Gideon shushed her but she continued on her incessant attempt at breathing. He must have hit her too hard. It didn’t matter.

His thumbs trailed down from her forehead and onto her useless eyes. She’s shaking now, trembling in fear and pain and Dr. Gideon didn’t even really find himself relishing in it. He was, above all things, confused and searching for himself through _her_ eyes. But it was useless.

Anger simmered deep in his mind.

Dr. Gideon pressed his thumbs until her eyes were crushed and blood seeped out of the sockets.

He tried to admire his work but didn’t find satisfaction.

The nurse— _Ms. Shell?_ —crawled away from him, screams silent. _As if she could run away_.

Dr. Gideon looked around and moves to a collection of IV poles and detaches one. He padded over to the crawling, pitiful nurse and stabs the pole without a second thought.

:::…~~~-0-~~~…:::

“Longbottom!”

He silently stepped inside the office, carefully closing the door behind him.

Kingsley Shacklebolt, a man with dark skin and body that spoke of his capability as the head of the Law Enforcement, regally sat behind his desk and gestured for him to sit down.

“You called for me, sir?” Neville obediently sat down and repressed the urge to fidget with his hands. It was never a good habit to show your nervousness in front of their boss—Kingsley Shacklebolt in particular.

“We received intel that the murders started again.” Mr. Shacklebolt uttered it as if it were grave news.

Neville took a moment to realize what ‘ _murders_ ’ they were talking about and when he did, he was quite unable to do anything besides feel his blood drain from his face. “ _What?_ ”

“I understand this might be a cause for distress, Mr. Longbottom,” Mr. Shacklebolt sighed, eyes gleaming in sympathy at the pale young man. “But the board has decided that out of all the available agents we have, you are the best candidate to send as a representative to handle the case.”

“But—” Neville spluttered, fear and indignation and righteousness battling for his reaction. “I- shouldn’t _I_ be the last to be chosen?”

“You know _them_ much more than anyone else,” Mr. Shacklebolt reasoned even though he seems to also find it disagreeable. “And your papers have all been settled.”

Neville clenched his fists, indignation winning out.

Many seconds ticked by before the department head let out an explosive sigh. “ _Neville_.” Kingsley pursed his lips. “Haven’t you been looking for an opportunity like this? I’ve seen your notes, you know _a lot_ about _them_. You’re the reason the investigation is still ongoing for the last five years.”

“I—”

“Before you decline, Neville, consider the people you _could_ save if you find _them_ —and you _will_ ; you’re great in your field. You’ve studied _their_ patterns much more vigorously than anyone else I know and if anyone is to ever be qualified for this case, it’s you.”

“It’s too personal; I can’t be in the case—”

“The board has decided, Neville.” Kingsley sent him a stern yet apologetic look. “I can’t do much about it now.”

Neville gave a defeated sigh. “When do I leave?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! I have no fucking idea what is happening *blinks* They just went on and made themselves like that. Poor Will, I sympathize. BTW, “torture” came from a latin word with the meaning “twisted”. It was kind of funny when I googled it.
> 
> Also, Beverly Katz’s fate has been decided!
> 
>  
> 
> **“Maybe a different approach…?” – 9  
> **  
>  “I know exactly what you are implying. Please don't.” – 8  
> “Go for canon!” – 4 
> 
>  
> 
> So that basically means you leave it up to me! *cackles* Whether she dies or not will always be a mystery to all of you now. It just won’t be like canon. I mean, if “Please Don’t” won, I would have made sure she lives a peaceful life. And anyway, Power of Universe has given me a great idea for that one.


End file.
